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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065876">begging for thread</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke'>wretcheddyke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fashion &amp; Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, D/s, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Filming, Human AU, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/F, Voyeurism, its kinky ok, lingerie used as restraints, model!yaz, photographer!13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:01:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Why do you like being in front of the camera?” </i>
</p><p> <i>"I like being watched,” she says, leaning back on her palms. “I like knowing I have your attention. That you see me.”</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi this is my first AU so please be nice!! for the record i have no idea how this industry works so don't comment on my accuracy lmaoo </p><p>thank u to my mate thee for giving me this au idea, i literally wrote it all in 4 days i love it so much jdjhshdj</p><p>title is from banks - beggin for thread (had the whole album on repeat as i wrote this lol)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yaz’s fingers grip her phone, a bit sweaty with nerves as she stands on the curb. It’s the same familiar feeling she always gets before a shoot. That eager buzzing in her freshly waxed legs. She feels a bit stupid dressed up in such heavy makeup, hair curled to high-heaven, stood on Market Street in broad daylight. At least no one’s catcalled her. Yet. <em>Hurry up</em>, she mutters to her phone, smiling politely at an old lady giving her a curious look.</p><p> </p><p>As if on cue, a sleek Mercedes pulls up a few feet ahead of her. She sends up a little prayer of thanks for the marque as she yanks open the passenger door - Ubers are always a bit hit and miss in this area. </p><p> </p><p>“Yasmin?” The man in the front seat asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz, yeah. Graham?”</p><p> </p><p>“The one and only. Where we off to then?” He smiles warmly and Yaz notes his strong Essex accent. Not that she’s one to judge a thick accent - two years in London and she still gets confounded looks when she tries to order drinks in a busy bar.</p><p> </p><p>“Tardis Building, please,” she says and checks that his docked phone shows the right route.</p><p> </p><p>“Now fancy that! My grandson just got the spot internin’ there. Yeah, WHAT Magazine,” he says as the car rolls off. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>WHO Magazine</em>?” She corrects with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, right. Says it’s right smart an’ all.”</p><p> </p><p>The Tardis Building, a London skyscraper 42 floors tall, homes the <em>WHO Magazine</em> headquarters, amongst an array of other publishing companies, businesses and startups. It’s become a sort of hub for Yaz since she started modelling full time, its rentable studios and designer workshops becoming an integral part of her sphere. It also helps that her two best friends work there full time. Due to its renowned reputation, the satisfaction of being able to call it one of her places of work still hasn’t worn off.</p><p> </p><p>“Who knows, maybe I’ll run into him,” she says, noticing the little toy frog swinging gently from the rearview mirror. It smells like aftershave and the remains of an old vacuum and faintly, somewhere beneath the artificial, a home-cooked lunch in a Tupperware. Yaz assumes the boot.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you won’t miss him. Another northerner like yourself. Yeah, proper Sheffield lad. Moved down with me and his Nan this year. I’ll tell you what—“</p><p> </p><p>He gets cut off by the harsh ringing from Yaz’s phone and she winces slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m really sorry,” she says, looking at the screen and rolling her eyes at the name. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“You better have your arse in the bleedin’ car right now,” the unmistakable voice blasts from the speaker. Yaz can picture her sitting at her desk, phone tucked under her shoulder, crowded by auburn hair.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in, I’m in!” She reassures, a little indigent at her tone.</p><p> </p><p>“I laid it on thick for this one, you better not show me up. Casting directors are gonna laugh me out the door if you keep being a no show,” she chides and Yaz rolls her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Donna, it were one time. I had food poisoning!” She reasons. It had actually been a two-day hangover but Donna definitely doesn’t need to know that.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t wanna hear it, young lady!” She bites and Yaz can’t help the smile on her face. Donna is never one to hold back.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m already on the way from the salon. Bit of a cheapskate shoot they’re not even doing hair and makeup on set.” She gives Graham a thumbs up when he silently double-checks a turning with her.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasmin, she’s a <em>VORTEX</em> photographer. I doubt she’s gonna be looking at your face, love.”</p><p> </p><p>“Donna, come off it. Y’said she were freelance?” She scolds but the woman has a point. If this photographer has any association with<em> VORTEX Magazine</em>, Yaz can guess the type of content she’s accustomed to producing.</p><p> </p><p>“What, like you? Still nosing around <em>WHO</em> like a stray cat, are you?” She admonishes. Donna still isn’t happy about Yaz scoring gigs with <em>WHO Magazine</em> without the use of her agent. Cutting out the middle man is a sure way of ending up working freelance in this industry.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’finished?” She asks and she knows Donna can hear her smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Call as soon as you’re done?” She resigns, her voice returning to its friendlier pitch.</p><p> </p><p>“Yep, always do. Thanks, Donna.” The line goes dead before she gets a goodbye in return and Yaz pulls her phone away with a shake of her head. “Sorry about that,” she apologises to Graham.</p><p> </p><p>“A model then?” He asks, nodding slightly. He seems impressed but like he doesn’t want to seem too intrigued in case he comes off as a creep.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, just while I figure out what I wanna do. It’s not a very stable job.”</p><p> </p><p>“No shame there. Hit my 60th last month and I’m still figuring it out. Just started up with the Ubers.” He chats gently, his eyes never leaving the road. “Yeah, yeah. Bus driver by heart, I am, but things change.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a note of melancholy to his voice as he reflects on his career and Yaz decides she likes him.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, like I always tell my grandson: you’re young as anything. You’ll figure it out.”</p><p> </p><p>The words are generic and Yaz’s heard them a million times but, for some reason, the way they’re spoken resonates with her. <em>I’ll figure it out</em>, she thinks and then gives a little chuckle. “Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>The car slows and Yaz looks out the window to see the massive skyscraper towering over them. It makes her feel tiny and somehow on top of the world all at once.</p><p> </p><p>“Here we go, love. You have a smashing day,” Graham winks and adjusts his mirror as Yaz slides out the car.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks!” She calls back. “You too.” And slams the door. </p><p> </p><p>She walks with purpose through the massive glass sliding doors. Walks as if she has a right to be here.<em> I do have a right to be here</em>, she reinforces to herself<em>. </em>No matter how many times she crosses the lobby, the enormity of the place never stops shocking her. It’s all glossy white marble and sleek steel and she observes the workers with a slight twinge of jealousy as they scan their security passes on the turnstiles. <em>One day</em>, she thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Yasmin Khan. Shoot in Studio 16.”</p><p> </p><p>The receptionist taps somewhat aggressively on her keyboard before smiling broadly at no one in particular, clearly confirming Yaz’s name. Yaz glances at her name tag and is sure to thank Judy when she waves her through.And then she’s back into the world of fashion designers and models and journalists and millionaire board members, a spring defining every step.</p><p> </p><p>She checks her phone. 14:48. Ten minutes to spare. Sliding into the first available lift, she pressed the button for the 18th floor and watches the numbers climb.</p><p> </p><p>The open-plan offices bustle with energy as she wanders through them. Everyone seems to switch desks each time Yaz’s here and she can’t keep track of who’s where. Not unless they’ve got an office, that is. Not seeing any familiar faces, she makes a beeline for the corner office, the glass walls making it obvious the occupier is already in. </p><p> </p><p>“Shit, sorry.” She overhears a clatter from the office kitchen and sees a young man on his knees, mopping up spilt coffee. He’s got a blue lanyard around his neck and his hands look nervous as they mop. <em>Intern</em>, she thinks and then wonders if he’s Graham’s grandson but thinks it’d be weird to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“New intern’s going well then?” She asks as she swings open the unnecessarily big glass door.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a sweetie but mate, if I see him walk into another one of these glass walls I’m gonna actually start laughing in his face,” Bill smiles widely from behind her desk. She wearing a yellow top that makes her look warm and comfortable.“What are you here for?” She asks, closing her tabs and getting up from the desk.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to see you too,” Yaz scolds as if they hadn’t seen each other that morning. Yaz has been living in her spare room since she made the move from Sheffield. Two years ago. It’d started as a temporary thing, a stepping stone to get her foot in the door in the big city. They’d met at St. Luke’s LGBT society in Bristol (and decided they were the only salvageable personalities out the whole bunch) while Yaz was attempting a degree in criminology and Bill finishing her masters. But time just seems to keep on slipping and despite the age gap, and now the wealth gap, Bill’s never made her feel less-than. “I’ve got a shoot in Studio 16,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, okay, sexy model. Is that for us?” She asks on behalf of <em>WHO Magazine.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Shut up. No, it’s some perfume ad Donna got me. I’m the new face of <em>Petrichor,”</em> she says, wiggling her fingers around her face. “Where’s Clara?” She asks. She’d been hoping to see their other friend to make sure drinks were still on tonight.</p><p> </p><p>“Off site,” Bill confirms, grabbing her iPad from her draw and making her way to the door. “Writing a column about the effects of PTSD. But I think she’s probably just shagging the sexy soldier man,” she says with a grimace. </p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that like, unethical or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, to my ears! If I have to hear about Mr Pink one more time — and yes that is his real name, not a euphemism for his Mr Pinky, which I have also heard far too much about all morning.” She walks backwards through the office as she talks, expertly avoiding the rolling desk chairs and rogue intern.</p><p> </p><p>“Gross,” Yaz cringes. She notes how comfortable Bill seems here, how much she possesses her environment. Yaz doesn’t think she’s ever felt so in control of, or perhaps at ease with, a place like that before.</p><p> </p><p>“Apparently he’s a model but I don’t see it,” she says, coming back up to the lifts. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you never do, Bill,” she snorts. Bill’s continued lack of enthusiasm for the men Clara fawns over has become a bit of a running joke between the three of them.</p><p> </p><p>“Touché,” she agrees, pressing the call button. “Come on, I’ll ride with you. I’m seeing the big boss.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nervous?” Yaz can’t imagine sitting opposite River Song and being able to keep her breakfast down, let alone be taken seriously as an employee.</p><p> </p><p>“Always. Why does she have to be so sexy—”</p><p> </p><p>“Shh!” Yaz scolds as the lift doors open behind Bill. She can’t face a repeat performance of last month when Clara had gone on about how much she fancied one of the new board members, only for her to be stood behind them in the queue for the coffee cart. She can still see Vastra’s amused green eyes boring into Clara’s humiliated face.</p><p> </p><p>The shiny silver metal slides back, the lift empty bar one.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey short-stuff,” the woman says, her Scottish accent instantly familiar in Yaz’s ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Amy,” Yaz exclaims as the red-head pulls off her sunglasses with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Amelia Pond,” she says, turning to shake Bill’s hand as the lift closes behind them.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Amelia Pond.” Bill seems to freeze. Face plastered with a massive grin as she grips the woman's hand a little bit too long. “Err, Bill Potts. Director of social media,” she blurts and points back to the lift doors as if <em>WHO Magazine</em> is still on the other side.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice position,” Amy commends, seemingly impressed. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Bill laughs, entirely starstruck by the model, before frowning and looking between the two of them. “You two know each other?”</p><p> </p><p>“Me and Yazzy were both on the <em>WHO Magazine</em> February cover,” she explains and that seems to add to Bill’s confusion tenfold. Amelia Pond isn’t someone you know and don’t let on you know. Her career has skyrocketed over the last three years, bouncing her from cover to cover after the successful release of <em>A Crack In The Wall</em> - her exposé autobiography about her time in the industry as a child model.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’could see my left elbow,” Yaz explains with a sigh. The shoot had been a laugh and she’d been paid nearly two thousand pounds for it — the biggest cheque of her career so far by a long shot — even if the results were a bit more than disappointing.</p><p> </p><p>“Brilliant elbow though,” Amy assures with a smirk and then nods to Yaz’s made-up face. “Nice makeup. Guessing you’re here for Eleven?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thirteen, sorry. Stupid artsy rabble. Seems pretentious to me but I don’t judge. The <em>Petrichor</em> campaign?” She asks and Yaz realises she must be talking about the <em>VORTEX</em> photographer.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, yeah. Y’know her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Boy, do I know her,” she laughs. “Seen a good few versions of her by now. Snogged her once at a party but don’t tell the press.” She looks over the two of them with a scandalous little grin and Yaz and Bill exchange their favourite look. It’s their <em>a-straight-girl-is-talking-about-gay-stuff</em> look.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh don’t give me that look,” Amy interrupts. “We all do a bit of experimenting when we’re young.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can say that again,” Bill says with a high pitch laugh and Yaz stifles a snort.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s harmless, really,” Amy says, missing the joke — apparently she’s always had terrible gay-dar — and getting back to the photographer.</p><p> </p><p>“Harmless?” Yaz asks when Bill sends her a bemused frown.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm, like a puppy. Just spray her with water if she bites at your ankles,” she says matter-of-factly. </p><p> </p><p>“Right.” There’s a lingering undertone like Amy is saying less than she should or perhaps too much.</p><p> </p><p>“And don’t let the fashion sense fool you,” she warns. “She’s raggedy but she knows what she’s doing.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz can’t tell if she’s talking about set design or something else but the lift dinging cuts her off before she can ask. She looks up to see her floor number blinking above the doors.</p><p> </p><p>“This is me,” she starts. “I’ll see you tonight, Bill?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Bill confirms, leaning back in the lift and pointing at the supermodel next to her. There’s a massive grin on her face at the prospect of sharing a ride with her up to the 40th floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to see you, Amy,” she adds, trying to hide her smile at Bill’s antics.</p><p> </p><p>“You too, short-stuff. Don’t be a stranger!” She calls as the lift doors slide shut and Yaz isn’t sure whether she’s aware Yaz has no means on contacting her or if she simply doesn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>The corridor is long and empty. Music plays from another studio but Yaz can’t see anyone. She wonders briefly if she has the wrong floor, the wrong building, the wrong day. But there’s a clatter from behind studio 16’s door and she swallows her nerves.</p><p> </p><p>She was expecting bustle. Lighting people and stylists and makeup artists and personal assistants. Instead, she’s met with a desolate room. White floors and the cityscape, expansive and breathtaking, covering one wall. The space is large, the first three quarters left deserted, scattered with discarded paper rolls and an empty coffee trolly. But at the far end resides a neat little setup.</p><p> </p><p>Tall stage lights, covered by paper diffusers, soak a perfectly positioned bed in an amber hue. Wires scatter the floor where the bedsheets finish and there’s a laptop on a tall stand with a woman looking at the screen intently. <em>Maybe I have got the wrong place</em>, Yaz thinks.</p><p> </p><p>She clears her throat and reclaims her forged sense of confidence, boots clattering on the floor as she crosses the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi. I’m Yasmin Khan,” she calls across the echoey space and it seems to startle the other woman. “Here for the <em>Petrichor</em> campaign?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yasmin, hi!” She looks up breezily, blonde hair, cropped above the shoulders, dancing about her face. She’s older than Yaz first though when she sees her face, mid-thirties maybe, but her clothes and posture make her look younger.</p><p> </p><p>“You can call me Yaz.” She takes the extended hand in hers and finds it to be warm.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz then. I’m Thirteen.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thirteen?”</p><p> </p><p>“My name, not my age. Although I do get that joke a lot. Always comes off a bit dodgy, if you ask me - glad you didn’t make it.” She has a genuine, infectious smile as she takes Yaz in and Yaz is surprised to hear a strong northern accent, much like her own. A rare thing in London, especially in the circles she runs in.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz has to laugh at her instant rambling and the way she gesticulates with her hands as she talks. She looks to the one other person in the room beside them: a short man with a bald head, carrying off a set of ladders.</p><p> </p><p>“Anything else?” He asks in a stuffy voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, looks great,” Thirteen replies, giving the set a once-over before turning back. “I’ll um…” She holds her thumb and pinky to her head like a phone and it cuts the conversation short. The man gives Yaz a funny look on his way out like he’s slightly repulsed by her and then waddles off with his ladder.</p><p> </p><p>“Um, where is everyone?” Yaz asks when the door slams shut and suddenly they’re alone.</p><p> </p><p>“Sent them away. Hate a busy set, me,” she says, fiddling with her camera.</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s wearing blue culottes with scuff marks on the knees and her feet are bare on the dusty floor. <em>Raggedy</em>, Yaz thinks. Then she wonders what Amy meant by <em>‘bite your ankles.’</em></p><p> </p><p>“So where do you want me?” She asks, shaking off the curious thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>“Centre stage please,” Thirteen gestures to the mark on the floor that signals the middle of the bed. “Just need to check my lighting for your skin tone. Last girl in here were ginger,” she explains, tapping away on her laptop screen. </p><p> </p><p>“Amy Pond?” Yaz takes a shot in dark and smiles at the way Thirteen’s face lights up with recognition.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah! We go way back. Y’know her?” She beams, coming out from behind the laptop and up to the camera.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve shared a set a few times. She’s funny. Tall.”</p><p> </p><p>“Way too tall,” she complains with a bewildered shake of her head and they both laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty, though,” Yaz adds after a beat. The woman’s eyes snap up and Yaz cocks an eyebrow. It’s a silent exchange - one that tells Thirteen she knows just a little bit about her and it seems to make her blush a bit. “She’s on the campaign too?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, it were a personal visit,” she says and then adds: “we’re like family.”</p><p> </p><p>They settle into a somewhat gentle silence as Thirteen takes test shots. She appears engrossed in her work, pushing her tongue into her top lip as she makes adjustments. Dancing around the set, she makes tweaks here and there, spinning on the balls of her feet. The lights are already warm on Yaz’s skin and she starts to relax into it, the familiar sounds from the camera lens snapping shut soothing her.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” she says after a while, her voice suddenly loud in the quiet room. “So, wardrobe left a bunch of different outfits. They’re organised on the rack. But I’ll only get you in one or two.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz isn’t sure if that’s normal, she’s only really done group shoots before and everything always seemed so much more chaotic with them. “They didn’t want a stylist here?” She asks as she pulls off her shoes.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s um… not much to style,” Thirteen says sheepishly. “Perfume ads, never ones for subtlety.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz gets what she means when she wanders over to the rack. <em>Not sure a hanger is really necessary for a thong,</em> she thinks, plucking out the yellow one. It’s pretty but the sequins are sharp and she quickly puts it back. There’s example shoots from old campaigns on the table, scattered with illegible notes. One features a Black girl with ridiculously defined cheekbones. She’s on her back with a massive smile on her face and it’s circled with the words ‘Missy’s favourite’ scrawled underneath.</p><p> </p><p>“You got a preference?” Yaz asks over her shoulder. “Not used to picking myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen comes up beside her, long fingers flicking through the rack as she bites her lip. “I like blue usually but I think I’d like you in red.” She pulls out a blood-red set of sheer lace, holding it up to Yaz’s body like she’s imagining her in it. “Yeah, definitely red.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz feels her heart skip a little bit at the woman's observation. She’s accustomed to people finding her attractive, drooling over her in fact but this feels more objective.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll pull blind round.” She struggles somewhat with the floral print screen, her face scrunching up when she realises how heavy it is. But she refuses to ask for help, dragging it inch by inch and wincing when it almost topples. Yaz thinks she looks like a kid who’s decided to rearrange their room in the middle of the night and tries not to smile too much. </p><p> </p><p>She changes quickly, chucking her regular clothes on the stool, and sends up silent thanks that she waxed yesterday, the lingerie leaving little to the imagination. There’s no mirror around and she feels a bit lost without her usual final checks but then thinks maybe it’s a good thing. She always manages to find a flaw a the last second anyway. She takes a breath, shakes her hands by her sides and steps out from behind the screen.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen’s eyes seem to go a little wide when she looks up and Yaz takes that as all the final check she needs. She seems embarrassed, a little blush on her cheeks, but she keeps on drinking Yaz in. Doesn’t look away even for a second.</p><p> </p><p>“On the mark, please?” She asks and Yaz takes up the position again.</p><p> </p><p>The lights thankfully warm her so she doesn’t feel too exposed in the huge room, the big diffusers transforming the set into a sort of room in and of itself. She tries a few poses but Thirteen doesn’t seem to have any comments or pointers and it starts to throw her off her game. <em>Stop being silly</em>, she self-scolds, bolstering her own confidence.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never been on a set this quiet,” she observes when the flashes stop for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” the woman scrunches up her face apologetically. “I can put on music if you like? I forget people don’t always like quiet,” she says as the bass of something slow and electronic fill the room. “My head’s loud enough as is, I don’t like a lot of noise,” she laughs a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Or people?” Yaz asks, gesturing to the huge empty room they fail to fill.</p><p> </p><p>“People are great, I love people,” she refutes, coming up close to Yaz and pushing her long black hair off her shoulder - it’s usually the stylist's job but Yaz supposes she must be playing the role of jack of all trades. “I just like to focus on one at a time,” she says, hazel eyes dotting across her face.</p><p> </p><p>There’s something laced between the words, a thread weaving through them that Yaz wants to unpick and see frayed across the floor. She feels unusually awake, the nervous energy quickly transforming into something else.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen is gentle, tentative as her fingers slip under the strap on Yaz’s shoulder. “Sorry,” she mutters as she adjusts the bra strap, looking back to check it’s even with the other side.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re alright,” Yaz assures her, eying her curiously. She seems to be an odd mix of shy and bold. Checking her out and touching her without asking but with a slightly sheepish aura. ‘<em>Just spray her with water,’ </em>Amy’s words ring in her ears and she bites back a smile. There’s something unmistakably endearing about it as she avoids Yaz’s eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>“You work with <em>WHO Magazine </em>a lot?” She asks, returning to her camera.</p><p> </p><p>“My best mate’s head of social media there. She manages to pull strings every now and then. Really pisses my agent off, doing her job for her.” Yaz recalls Donna’s biting tone and the bleeding-heart that resides beneath it.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not scared of getting boxed in?” She asks through the viewfinder - Yaz can hardly see her through the bright lights.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a pretty big box.” Yaz is only just starting out in her career, being boxed in anywhere feels more like a benefit than a detriment - at least then she’d belong <em>somewhere</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t look it from the outside,” she responds. Her face is obscured by the lens but Yaz senses some resentment towards the publication. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re known as a <em>VORTEX</em> photographer. Same thing really.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah but it’s not my face on the cover,” she smiles. “Plus, I’ve known Jack Harkness a very long time.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz cocks a surprised eyebrow. Jack Harkness, founder and editor-in-chief of <em>VORTEX Magazine</em>, has quite the reputation for being the resident sybarite. His hedonistic lifestyle sees him dashed across front pages of tabloids he doesn’t even own, jetting from place to place on his private jet with copious amounts of scantily dressed models. It puts him entirely at odds with this woman’s scruffy, nervous demeanour. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” Yaz grins. “Just imagining you in his <em>Playboy</em> mansion surrounded by bunnies.”</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen rolls her eyes and blushes a bit. “He hates when people call it that. The Hefner rivalry was very real.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz chuckles at the image. What an odd turn her life has taken, getting insider info on Jack Harkness and casually running into Amelia Pond in the lift. </p><p> </p><p>“Can you put your hand on your hip?”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz does as she’s told, jutting out her ass a little and channelling as much seduction as she can muster for the glass lens, biting her crimson smeared lip between sharp teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t like being on the other end of the camera?” She asks as Thirteen unscrews her camera from the tripod and chooses to sit on the floor in front of Yaz.</p><p> </p><p>“I dunno,” she shrugs, mulling the question over in her mind as she takes a few shots. “We’re always changing, being different people all through our lives, and that's okay, you've gotta keep moving.” She crawls up before her and slips her fingers into the side of Yaz’s thong, brushing along the soft skin at her hip. “I guess I don’t always like remembering the people I used to be,” she says, checking it’s even. Her eyes look deep and dark as they rake across Yaz’s brown skin before snapping up. “Can I get you sat down?”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz perches herself on the side of the bed. It’s harder than a regular bed, a cheap version for the purpose of make-believe, but the quilt is lush and the sheets fresh.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s why you change your name so often? Rebrand?” Yaz asks as Thirteen plonks back down on the floor, crossing her legs like a kid.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not a brand,” she refutes, clearly uncomfortable with the connotations. “More of an evolution. Why do you like being in front of the camera?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just a job,” she claims as a flash of light crashes about them.</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft. I can see you lying right through the lens there, Yaz,” she smiles boldly when she moves the camera from her face. Yaz hates how transparent she must look - she’s usually better at maintaining the illusion.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” she concedes with an eye roll and a smile which Thirteen captures eagerly. She studies Thirteen’s expression intently when she says her next words, notes how she smiles and cocks an eyebrow with intrigue. “I guess I like being watched,” she says, leaning back on her palms, pushing out her chest and tightening her abs. “I like knowing I have your attention. That you see me,” she says, slow and measured. </p><p> </p><p>Thirteen crawls forward again, pushing one of Yaz’s legs open a fraction. Her fingertips are warm on her inner knee and Yaz wonders if she’s going to slide them up higher. She dips up instead to brush a bit of hair out Yaz’s face and she can hear her heartbeat in her ears.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s nice,” she whispers, the proximity suddenly intense.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she nods and then, looking at her lips, adds: “shame you’re a big fat liar.”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?!” Yaz is taken aback by the second call-out but smiles nonetheless at her ambitious observation and Thirteen chuckles at her perplexed face.</p><p> </p><p>“Duping delight, that’s why you like it,” she claims and she’s stood on her knees, bracketed by Yaz bare thighs. “…It’s all one big beautiful facade. Enticing me in.” Her eyes wash over Yaz’s face like she’s trying to find cracks in the veneer.</p><p> </p><p>“You?” Yaz asks, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, the viewer. Whoever,” she stutters a bit, backtracking on her claims as Yaz refuses to allow her to escape her intense eye contact. She shuffles back to her original position and Yaz takes a little breath of fresh air, smirking at her sudden shyness.</p><p> </p><p>“So why photography? If we’re all such liars,” she asks asking for the clicking and flashing resumes.</p><p> </p><p>“I like being able to freeze time,” she shrugs again. Her words don’t seem rehearsed at all and Yaz likes that she seems to be giving honest answers. “Time’s always runnin’ away from us. I get to stop it. Keep a perfect moment forever so it never has to end. I hate endings,” she says firmly. “Plus, I’ve to pay the bills and fashion brands pay a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz isn’t sure how to respond to such a simply honest answer so she opts for her usual flirting. “Nothing to do with all the pretty girls then?”</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen lets out a laugh. “Well, pretty girls definitely don’t hurt. Can I have you on your side?”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz scoffs at the smutty innuendo but swings her legs up on the bed nonetheless. She props her head up on one elbow and the position makes her feel 14 again, chatting for hours with Izzy Flint about nothing in particular. Except, this time she’s in lingerie and the woman before her looks like she wants to eat her right back.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” she approaches tentatively on her knees, sneaking her fingers past the fabric of the sheer bra to rearrange it. “It’s twisted,” she claims but Yaz is almost certain she just wanted to touch her again.</p><p> </p><p>“Does that a lot, these ones,” she chides and raises an eyebrow as she observes her lingering gaze. She wonders briefly if she knows how obvious she’s being and just doesn’t care or if she truly thinks she getting away with trying to catch a glimpse at Yaz’s tits.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm, bit of a perfectionist, me,” she assures, forcing a casual tone but her dark eyes give her away in an instant. “Hand on your thigh?”</p><p> </p><p>She takes a few more shots before moving around behind her. Yaz isn’t entirely sure what she’s taking photos of as she holds her pose. She can hear the camera clicking and see the lights flashing and then the bed is dipping down behind her. It gives her a thrill, somehow, like she’s the centre of the universe, or maybe a black hole, drawing this woman in until she drowns.</p><p> </p><p>A skittish hand tugs the strap of her thong higher over her hip to emphasise her ass but the following snapshots never occur. Instead, feather-light fingers run down the muscles on her back, shifting her hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’must work out loads,” she says, an element of awe in her voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Went through a gym phase back when I thought I wanted to be police. Ended up doing a bodybuilding competition just as a laugh,” Yaz explains, eyes on the cityscape outside as the woman does… something behind her back. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you win?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft. No. Came 6th.” The competition had come about on a dare, her sister Sonya goading her with the threat of a boring personality being added to her list of qualities. <em>Look at me now, Son</em>, she thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“6th ‘ent bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“It were of out ten. Apparently, Sheffield doesn’t have many female bodybuilders.”</p><p> </p><p>A light chuckle comes from behind her and she’s glad she doesn’t have to explain further to the fellow northerner.</p><p> </p><p>“Roll back, face me?”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz finds she’s glad to be able to see her again when she lays flat on her back. Her hazel eyes are big and magnetic, blonde hair making her look warm and lovely under the set lights. Yaz has to keep reminding herself where they are - that this isn’t a regular bed and the woman before her is a total stranger.</p><p> </p><p>She hops up on wobbly legs, trying to stand on the mattress. It’s a little intimidating, Yaz being so small beneath her - or, it would be if she didn’t seem so inelegantly balanced, looking like a baby giraffe learning to walk. She takes a step and plants her feet on either side of Yaz’s body to stand over her.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz looks up the length of her, takes in her long legs and the curve of her breasts under her white t-shirt and notices she’s not wearing a bra. She lets her hands wander to her legs and holds her shins under the guise of helping her balance. It’s more intimate than she’s ever been with a photographer before, her warm skin feeling soft and smooth.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’really are beautiful,” Thirteen mutters from behind her lens. </p><p> </p><p>“Y’use that on everyone?” Yaz asks with a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely not.” She looks dead serious when she moves the camera away and Yaz’s smirk falters. Something in the room shifts and they appear to slide into new terrain, or maybe they were there all along. Yaz can’t tell when it happened but suddenly she tastes the heaviness in the air.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen sinks down from her position onto her knees until she’s straddling Yaz’s thighs.</p><p> </p><p>“Liar,” Yaz proclaims. It comes out in an unfamiliar voice and she hates how rattled she is by this woman’s proximity. </p><p> </p><p>She organises Yaz’s hair on the pillow, hovering over her like a vision or a lover.</p><p> </p><p>“I never lie,” she claims and takes her photos—<em>click, click, click—</em>and Yaz can feel her knees digging into her bare thighs.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz’s breathing feels heavy with the closeness and she knows she’s wet - she can feel it pooling in the sheer underwear. She puts her hands on her thighs, resting them on the blue fabric and she knows they burn holes there.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen swallows thickly as Yaz’s hands taunt her, clearly unaccustomed to being touched back. She leans into the touch a fraction, her camera lens quite obviously trained on Yaz’s chest. She can only imagine what images are being captured, but something tells her this stopped being a perfume campaign a good few frames ago.</p><p> </p><p>She lets the camera rest on her thigh for a moment, observing Yaz as if she wants to say something.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz holds her gaze, silently taunting her as she wrestles to find her words. She's fascinated to see what move she’ll make, how bold she’ll be, how abashed.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand comes to hover above Yaz’s sternum for a moment, painfully hesitant as she waits for an admonishment that never comes. Trembling fingers, her middle first and then her index and third, trace across her chest. It’s a ghost’s touch, feather-light and wary but slowly building confidence.</p><p> </p><p>The gentle touch across Yaz’s skin causes a chill to spill out across her chest and her nipples harden slightly beneath the fabric. She wants to arch into the touch, her lower back curving slightly. She reaches where her bra crosses her sternum and hooks a finger over it, pulling it down a fraction.</p><p> </p><p>It appears Thirteen got her desired results as she scoops up her camera again and starts taking more photos, capturing the effects of her touch. Yaz feels her heart thudding in her chest - the tension weighing her down like a sedative right to her bloodstream. She’s desirous of nothing but to feel this woman’s hands on her.</p><p> </p><p>“Um… Do you do topless?” She asks, her eyes as dark as coals and her voice dryer than before. Yaz revels in the effect she has on her, she wants to push her, see how far she’ll go before breaking out of this role she continues to play.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not in my contract,” Yaz replies, studying her slightly disappointed face. </p><p> </p><p>“So, no?” She asks, downtrodden and pouty. <em>‘She’s like a puppy…’</em></p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I said,” Yaz says confidently.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen seems both overjoyed and suddenly nervous once she’s been handed a confusing amount of permission. She blinks away her nerves. Slides her hand up toned abs until she reaches the fastening on the front of Yaz’s bra. Hesitating for a moment, she seems to stare at her own hand like she’s willing it to take the plunge for her.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz feels the garment go slack and she can feel herself pulsing she’s so turned on, the air in the room feeling fresh on the newly exposed skin.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen pushes the fabric back and lets out a desperate sigh when she sees Yaz’s dusky nipples. She swallows thickly, drinking Yaz in like a piece of art or an expensive meal. She quickly picks up her camera again and Yaz wonders if that’s a reflex for everything she finds interesting.</p><p> </p><p>Before she can take many more photos, however, Yaz sits up. She glides in, mere millimetres from the blonde’s mouth, letting her warm breath dance across her lips before she pulls the fabric off all the way and lays back down. She has to hold back a smirk at how boggled the woman appears by the sudden and brief proximity.</p><p> </p><p>She hides her face with her camera, something Yaz assumes she does quite a lot of, focusing on her through the lens. “Can you um…” She starts nervously and trails off.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Yaz smirks, the anticipation of a wicked request setting her alight.</p><p> </p><p>“Make ‘em hard… pinch them.” Her cheeks blush red as the words escape and Yaz swears she feels her thighs trying to press together around Yaz’s body.</p><p> </p><p>“Think that’s your job, isn’t it? Positioning and set design?” Yaz asks, forging a sense of innocence as her hands rest on her thighs.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen’s eyes flutter shut for a moment at her words and she sighs again. She sounds and looks utterly desperate and Yaz delights in it.</p><p> </p><p>Her fingers gently graze against her right nipple and they both gasp. She plays with it softly, flicking her thumb over the sensitive flesh before rubbing it. Gradually gaining confidence, she plucks at the flesh and drops her camera on Yaz’s belly to pinch both nipples simultaneously. She’s entirely enthralled by her, eyes wide and gooey at the sight as she touches her.</p><p> </p><p>It sends sparks of desire right through Yaz, each pinch sending bolts of electricity down to her cunt and she feels herself soak through the lace.</p><p> </p><p>“Sit up against the headboard,” she chokes after a while, her voice hoarse and gravelly with desire.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz follows instructions, scooting back until she’s propped up by the pillows. Thirteen sits opposite, between her legs, her barefoot resting against the headboard by Yaz’s hip. She takes photos in quick succession, surely capturing the want the leaks from Yaz’s expression.</p><p> </p><p>If the room didn’t smell faintly of paint and the towering lights weren’t a dead give away, Yaz would be forgiven for forgetting they weren’t in a real bed.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen edges Yaz’s knee open again and Yaz sees the moment she notices the wet patch on her underwear. She slides her hand down to rest on her inner thigh and takes photos of it resting there, framing her underwear.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz can feel herself losing patients. She needs to be touched. Needs to feel Thirteen’s hands on her, bold and unthinking instead of timid and guilt-riddled. She lets her knee drop to the side, an open invitation and a palm presses against the lace, firm but not enough.</p><p> </p><p>Jaw clenching at the feeling of Yaz’s wetness seeping through on to her hand, her fingers scratch a little just below Yaz’s navel and the heel of her hand pressed against her clit.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz tries to resist the rolling of her hips. She wants her to take her, touch her and fuck her. She wants her to lose control and finally give in to the desire Yaz can see swimming in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She does. Chest heaving with hunger, she boldly pushes back the fabric of Yaz’s underwear and slips her hand through the leg hole before she can chicken out. She lets out a strained little whimper at the feel of her, her thumb gliding through the wetness that resides there.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz lets out a low moan that reverberates through the headboard as her eyes slide shut at the feeling of her swiping across her clit. “Fuck,” she groans as she starts tracing circles around her. She’s surprised to hear the sound of the camera lens snapping shut and the lights flashing and her eyes fly open again.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen has the camera back up to her face, pointed at her fingers as they slip inside Yaz. She’s taken photos of herself naked before and she’s used to having her photos taken in a professional capacity but she’s never had someone else photograph her like this before. She feels exposed but strangely powerful at how enthralled she is by her.</p><p> </p><p>Still, the novelty wears off when Thirteen’s fingers play with her slowly, never committing to a rhythm.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you gonna make me come or are you just gonna take photos?” Yaz breathes and she can hear the neediness in her own voice.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen looks up abashed like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Sorry,” she blurts and promptly puts the camera down on the sheets. She angles her fingers better and starts to move up the bed to kiss Yaz. </p><p> </p><p>“No, take your top off first,” Yaz commands firmly and feels a little rush when the older woman falters.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, okay,” she mutters and flushes. Yaz imagines this is what Amy meant by <em>‘spray her with water.’ </em>Shuffling back a little, she pulls off her t-shirt without a show and throws it on the bed. She seems to glance down at herself as if her breasts require explanation but then shuffles back it. It’s painfully awkward but Yaz is endeared by her faltering confidence.</p><p> </p><p>She kisses her sweetly, starting as little more than a peck, her hand sliding back to its position inside her underwear. Yaz cups her face to encourage her, slipping her tongue past the perimeter of her lips to lick into her mouth. She moans at the feeling and melts into her, pushing her fingers back inside and starting a pace.</p><p> </p><p>As the thread unravels, Thirteen’s thrusts become eager and desperate. She fucks into her like she’ll die if she doesn’t feel her come around her fingers, all of the pent up energy they’ve been dancing around suddenly fraying and sparking and burning.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz gasps at the fast pace and Thirteen groans, leaving their kiss to plant wet ones down Yaz’s neck, tasting the salty sweat on her skin tinged with bitter perfume. She’s frantic and wild, not entirely in control as she gives in, finally, to her desire.</p><p> </p><p>“Slow down,” Yaz commands and she mewls against her neck something that sounds like another apology. She kisses down to her sternum and rests her chin there to watch Yaz’s response as she slows her pace and starts a more calculated rhythm. Yaz’s red lipstick is smudged over her mouth and it makes her look dishevelled. “That’s better,” Yaz praises as she regains focus.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen resumes the use of her mouth as she kisses across her chest. She licks across a hard nipple, the wet muscle wriggling against the hard flesh before she closes her mouth over it. Yaz wonders how long she’s been thinking about doing that - since she put on the lingerie or before? Her teeth scrape across her skin and she rubs her thumb over the wet nipple before moving her mouth to the other side. </p><p> </p><p>Yaz arches into her touch, the built-up energy pulling taught within her as concentrated fingers coax out unbridled pleasure. She can feel herself hurtling toward one end, faster and faster as Thirteen’s fingers work her. Her hot mouth on Yaz’s nipples sending ripples down her spine.</p><p> </p><p>When her thumb comes up to press against her throbbing clit, Yaz starts to tumble. There’s a chill about her legs, muscles contracting against her will and her hips roll. With a shudder, she comes hard around the fingers inside her, her hands gripping the blonde hair on the head that laves her nipples with wet silk.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” she sighs as her muscles finally relax. “Stop, get out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Y’okay?” She asks, sliding both arms around Yaz’s sides as she lays on top of her. There’s worry etched on her face at Yaz’s harsh tone and it melts her heart a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she smiles breathlessly, tucking blonde hair behind her ear. She notes the little mole on her cheek, the laugh lines by her eyes, the crease between her brows and studies the shape of her mouth. “I wanna fuck you,” she says plainly and watches Thirteen’s eyes go a little wide, her mouth gaping, she makes a little noise. “Is that okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Her head nods fervently. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights of Yaz’s unwavering certainty.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz flips her. Hauling her slight figure onto her back and spreading her thighs by sitting between them and Thirteen seems utterly taken aback by her manhandling. She wastes no time undoing the zip on her culottes and tugs them down her legs along with her boxers, harsh enough to pull her down the bed a little.</p><p> </p><p>Chucking the clothes to the side, Yaz spreads her legs and roughly rearranges her hips. “That’s pretty,” she compliments when she takes in the little patch of blonde hair and Thirteen blushes like she’s not really used to people looking at her.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t kiss her. She pulls a pink nipple between her teeth and basks in the harsh gasps it draws out, laving the bitten skin with her tongue. This is Yaz at her best - in control, finally, of something she’s mastered, something she understands and appreciates.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen’s hips are already rocking and Yaz hasn’t even touched her there yet. When Yaz cups her, she’s dripping, her clit already throbbing and Yaz smirks into her chest. Rubbing circles through her wet folds, Yaz draws back to find her red-faced and her mouth shut tight.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t stop being chatty now. C’mon, I know you’ve got something to say,” she teases, planting a kiss under her chin.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, god, Yaz,” she moans, hands clawing at the sheets.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you… Please—” She gasps when Yaz pushes two fingers inside her. “Thank you,” she squeaks and Yaz chuckles into her neck before sitting up.</p><p> </p><p>Resting back on her calves, she watches her fingers sink inside her and then, without much warning, picks up a blistering pace. She’s memorised the fervidness Thirteen tried to fuck her with and uses it right back, the wet slaps echoing around the desolate room.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” she almost howls over the quick noises, her face screwing up and her eyes shut tight. “Fuck, Yaz. Y’gonna make me come,” she gasps as she chest heaves.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the plan,” Yaz chaffs, biting her lip as her arm starts to fizz with the exertion. She has no desire to draw things out, the painstaking foreplay having done that for long enough. She needs to see her unravelled, come apart at the seams from Yaz’s fast fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Her legs suddenly snap shut around Yaz’s hand as she comes, her whole body trembling as it washes through her. Yaz stills, panting, only to feel her flutter around her fingers. The sight is intoxicating, a shot of something inebriating to her system: sudden and mildly unexpected as she came so quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“Legs apart,” Yaz orders, all business.</p><p> </p><p>She looks slightly dazed as she looks up but does as told nonetheless, re-parting her knees as she shuffles back. Her breath seems to catch just at the mere knowledge Yaz is about to go down on her, her hands coming to pull back Yaz’s hair. She jolts when Yaz swipes her tongue through her, the salty wetness making her mouth water.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you keep your hands to yourself for once?” Yaz asks, pulling away just in time to see her indignant frown at the scold. Her hands move to rest at her sides, fiddling with the sheets, despite her pout.</p><p> </p><p>Dipping back down, she spreads the slick wetness about with her tongue. She bites ever so lightly on her labia, sucking the skin in and then swirling her tongue over her erect clit. It only takes a minute until she feels guilty hands slinking back into her hair, trying to direct her movements. Yaz swiftly pulls away and sits up.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, please,” she begs. “Please, Yaz, I didn’t mean to.” She looks perfectly desperate, her hips still rocking slightly despite there being nothing to rub against.</p><p> </p><p>“If you can’t do what you’re told…” Yaz picks up the expensive lingerie, now a simple rag of a red lace strewn on the bed. She grabs her hand, twisting the straps about a boney wrist. Thirteen’s eyes are wide but she doesn’t protest when Yaz ties her hands together - it’s a flimsy attempt but it makes the challenge harder. Yaz almost wants her to break free from the restraints all so she can punish her for it.</p><p> </p><p>She grabs Thirteen’s hips again and rolls her so she’s laying flush on her belly, bound hands tapped under her chest. Running her fingers through her folds from behind, she pushes open her legs with her knee, enamoured by the way she lays there and takes it. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you gonna be good?” She whispers in her ear, pulling blonde strands away from her face and biting on her earlobe. Her chest just grazes the pale expanse of her back.</p><p> </p><p>She nods frantically, not trusting herself to talk.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be good, I’ll be so good - the best. I promise, I’ll do whatever you say,” she blurts in one breath and Yaz’s eyebrows raise in surprise. She’s never had someone submit so eagerly before and it throws her a bit.</p><p> </p><p>She flips her back, suddenly unsure about the position - it feels too much considering how little she knows about this woman. Either way, she seems to enjoy the manhandling, letting out a little gasp as she shifts. Lifting her knees and pushing them back, Yaz spreads her wide.</p><p> </p><p>She laps at her, pushing her tongue deep within the warmth of her cunt, and feels her tremble beneath her. She seems to taste even more gratifying like this: bound and exposed and finally at Yaz’s mercy. The saltiness on her tongue, dripping down her chin, tastes like power. It tastes like authority and dominion. Tastes like freedom.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“God, Yaz…”</p><p> </p><p>The cry draws her attention and Yaz looks up to see her looking right back, eyes fuzzy with the pleasure that claims her. She’s sweaty and red and Yaz needs to see her lose it again.</p><p> </p><p>She scratches her hands across her pale belly, up to her tits as she sucks mercilessly on her clit. When nimble fingers tug on her nipples, pinching and twisting the already hard flesh, Yaz feels her twitch on her tongue.</p><p> </p><p>She comes like that, shaking and sweaty with Yaz’s tongue inside her but Yaz only stops to swap her tongue for her fingers. She keeps up her pace, watching Thirteen’s mildly baffled face as she realises Yaz has no intention of stopping there, thrusting into her as she did before.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, Yaz, please…” she cries, lip curling up in a picture of pain and pleasure overlapping as the stimulation gets too much and not enough all at once.</p><p> </p><p>“Please what?” Yaz’s voice is stern, goading in a way that feels unfair but she can’t bring herself to care.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she splutters. If she wasn’t so red already from the stimulation, Yaz would say she looked shamefaced, her voice quivering with the words.</p><p> </p><p>It catches Yaz off guard a little, such a blatant admission of guilt about nothing in particular. <em>Maybe she wants to be punished,</em> some voice theorises. </p><p> </p><p>Yaz closes her hand around her jaw, holding her face with a firm grip. She looks disorientated for a second, lost in the moment before Yaz wrenches her face around to look her in the eye. Her skin is pink where the fingers dig into her cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, babe,” she taunts, her hand pumping at a remorseless speed. “One more for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen seems to wrestle with comprehending Yaz’s words but it’s all over too quickly when she curls her fingers and presses against the sensitive spot inside. Her eyes lose focus, despite Yaz’s grip on her face, clouding over as she drowns in the feeling. With a hot rush of fluid, she comes again around Yaz’s fingers, letting out a pitiable noise from the back of her throat.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz watches the wetness splatter against her thighs as she fucks her through it, legs trembling. Then she collapses, limbs splaying out unceremoniously onto the bed, the weaving thread holding her taught suddenly cut. She shivers when Yaz pulls out and kisses up her body as she regains her breath. Tugging the mess of lace off her wrists, Yaz plants a kiss on each nipple and then her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>The image of debauchery before her makes her breathless. Thirteen is still panting, her chest and face red with exertion, blonde hair sticking to the sides of her face. There’s come on her legs and her lip is red with Yaz’s lipstick and slightly swollen from where she’s bitten it. The perfect picture.</p><p> </p><p>“What y’doing?” She asks lazily as Yaz pushes her knee open, spreading her legs slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“I think this is a pretty perfect moment,” she muses. The camera is heavier than she’d expected. Clearly of a professional standard far beyond any shitty digital thing Yaz has handled before. It’s sleek, expensive. It captures every shade of red and pink and blonde when the shutter snaps.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop, you’ll get… stuff on my camera,” she whines but makes little effort to stop Yaz. Her arms come up to hide her face from the intrusive lens, the only thing captured being her perfect body and the smile that pokes out from beneath her hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Please, dread to think what this thing has seen,” Yaz taunts, watching her intently through the viewfinder. </p><p> </p><p>Her arms drop down in a strop at that, her face screwing up in protest. Yaz captures it. Captures the guilty denial, the new wave of crimson that dusts her cheeks and the hand that moves towards her, blocking out part of the frame.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen knocks the camera away. Sitting up and covering the wet patch with a sheet, she snakes her arms around Yaz’s waist, pulling her in to get her to sit in her lap. She kisses her slowly, their first kiss not tainted by impatient desperation. Her tongue is lenient, her mouth accommodating.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never done that before,” she says almost surprised by herself when Yaz pulls back, her big hazel eyes searching for something.</p><p> </p><p>“Squirted?” Yaz grins.</p><p> </p><p>She tuts loudly and rolls her eyes and Yaz finds it adorable. “Shut up, no. I mean all that, like that.” She makes a little gesture to the fake bed they’re in.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz wants to believe her. Wants to believe she’s not the next in a long line of young models this woman has had her way with, her fingers becoming an extension of the lens they crave. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t need a lens to see you lying,” she refutes and tries not to be lulled by the feeling of blunt nails scratching her back.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not lyin’,” she swears, her chin resting on Yaz’s chest. “I’ll prove it.” Each kiss across her skin feels like a promise, four in a line from her breast to her neck.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz eyes her curiously. Even now, after getting her way, fucked-out and spent, she seems enraptured with Yaz. Her hands never leave her body, feeling the soft skin around her ribs and coming up to cup her breast, absentmindedly swiping a thumb over her nipple.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me take you out? Anywhere you wanna go.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes are wide and hopeful as she waits for Yaz’s response, biting eagerly at the thumb that prods her bottom lip. She looks adorable and innocent and Yaz knows she’s fallen for the shtick.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘She knows exactly what she’s doing,’</em> Amy’s words echo as a pink tongue wriggles against her thumb.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz lets out an unmistakably defeated sigh. <em>Shit</em>.</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Music and the bitter smell of spilt alcohol fill Yaz’s senses as she makes her way through the bar. It’s a shitty little place, serving microwave meals and two-for-one, watered-down cocktails but they all agree in a silent pact to pretend it’s their favourite for the sake of Yaz’s bank account. She spots them in their usual booth in the corner, Clara’s face creasing with laughter at something Bill says.</p><p> </p><p>“…He said he started a channel but I think he’s still stuck hoping for his 2014 Youtuber fantasy—”</p><p> </p><p>“Ladies,” Yaz greets them as she chucks her coat over Clara’s side, safe against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, is that Miss Yasmin Khan?<em> WHO Magazine</em> February cover girl?” Bill jibes with mock surprise, shifting her stuff over to make space.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, get off it, Bill,” she says, rolling her eyes as she slides in across from her. She can’t stop herself grinning from ear to ear though. The day she’s had, nothing could dampen her mood. “Have you ordered?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, we were waiting for you.”</p><p> </p><p>The table is sticky under her hands and Clara hands her a napkin when she grimaces.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you look so perky?” She asks, eying Yaz suspiciously, never one to leave a thread unpicked.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know that face. I <em>have</em> that face. Look at my face, this is my <em>'I just shagged Danny Pink again’ </em>face,” she points to her own mug and sure enough a fizzle of excitement resides around her eyes.It’s what Yaz has been feeling ever since she left Thirteen, still dressing awkwardly and without an answer, behind. “So who’ve you just shagged?”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz’s jaw opens. Shuts then opens. “No one,” she claims but her poker face is below par, the dumb giggle she wants to let out leaking through. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Clara looks at Bill to hear her theory.</p><p> </p><p>“She had a shoot with a <em>VORTEX</em> photographer. Yasmin Khan, did you shag a <em>VORTEX</em> photographer?”</p><p> </p><p>All eyes are on her then, Bill’s elated and Clara’s calculating, studying Yaz’s face to see if it’s the truth. When Yaz’s resolve breaks, she gives a little sheepish shrug and a bubble of laughter finally escapes her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz! What happened to <em>WHO Magazine</em> loyalty?” She scolds lightheartedly.</p><p> </p><p>“Get me a bloody salary there and maybe it’d be a bit more robust,” Yaz reasons. “She’s not even a <em>VORTEX</em> photographer, she’s freelance.” The looks her two best friends give her makes it clear she hasn’t sold it. “…She just happens to be best pals with Jack Harkness, apparently.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Well, no longer surprised she fucked on a shoot then,” Bill says, raising her hands in defeat. “Or did you fuck her?” She asks and then turns to Clara to explain: “Amelia Pond said she was a puppy.”</p><p> </p><p>“You met Amelia Pond?!” Clara sits up a little straighter at the news, always keen on celebrity gossip.</p><p> </p><p>“Rode all the way to River’s office with her, too. Pretty sure she liked me,” Bill claims, smugly brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Better watch yourself, Bill. You’ll have Rory the Roman on y’case,” Yaz warns with a laugh. The star of <em>The Pandorica Opens, </em>and Amy’s actor husband, has a reputation for being far too kind for the role of battle hero, to the point of his docility becoming a meme. Yaz thinks it’s refreshing.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, I could take him,” she asserts, tensing her bicep.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz shakes her head with a laugh and looks about. The pub is bustling, their late-start not helping the situation. “Queue’s mad, I’m gonna order on the app,” she says, pulling her phone from her clutch. </p><p> </p><p>Bill immediately snatches her phone from across the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Oi!”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t sit and watch you do it, it’s like watching Clara tryna connect to the wifi.”</p><p> </p><p>They give indignant frowns as Bill manages to insult them both in one go.</p><p> </p><p>“Add a Mojito,” she asks, trying to get a look at the screen.</p><p> </p><p>“I have.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do the two for one thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I did!”</p><p> </p><p>She tuts at Bills efficiency and gives up, sitting back in her chair.</p><p> </p><p>“So is she like mega rich?” She asks as she hands the phone to Clara to add her order. “Being all buddy-buddy with Amelia Pond and Jack Harkness. She’s gotta be, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s still a photographer, they don’t make that much money. Do they?” Clara asks, looking up from Yaz’s screen with a frown.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz looks between them when they eye her expectantly as if she’s already had this conversation with her. “I don’t know, I weren’t gonna ask, was I?”</p><p> </p><p>“True, probably had your mouth full,” Bill snarks and opens her mouth with glee at Yaz’s expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Bill!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god…” Clara interrupts. She’s holding the screen close to her chest, a massive smile plastered across her face which she swiftly covers with her spare hand.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Yaz asks, suddenly worried.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yasmin Khan, you naughty, naughty girl,” she says slowly before looking back at the screen. “Oh my god!”</p><p> </p><p>“Let me see, let me see—” Bill is far too quick, snatching the phone from Clara’s hand this time and looking at the screen. Her eyes bulge and her mouth gapes at whatever she sees. “—Yaz!!”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz feels a little wave of anxiety at whatever they’re looking at, not aware of having anything particularly scandalous on there. Well, nothing they both haven’t already seen. “Give it!” She exclaims, taking back possession of her device.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a new iMessage chat on screen from an unknown number. The only message an image. It’s of Yaz, mouth curled into a smile, her bra unclasped at the front with Thirteen’s hand on her rib, cupping her breast. It’s angled poorly, not focused on anything in particular and a little blurry around the edges but Yaz knows why she chose that one. Yaz isn’t looking into the lens, she’s looking out of frame, pupils dilated with desire and anticipation as she holds Thirteen’s burning hazel gaze.</p><p> </p><p>Another message pops up and Yaz feels her heart do a little flip in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Unknown [9:24pm]:</em>
  </b>
  <em> Think this one’s my favourite but there’s a lot to get through :)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Shit,” Yaz stares at the photo and Thirteen’s words and then up at her thrilled mates.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I can look at you the same again,” Bill says, stretching her face with her palms.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I might actually have a crush on Yaz,” Clara jokes, looking at Bill to confer. </p><p> </p><p>“Might have to buy me some <em>Petrichor,</em>” Bill claims, drawing out a cackle from Clara.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up. Shut up,” Yaz pleads, scrunching her eyes shut with embarrassment at her friends’ ribbing. “I’m queuing,” she decides, scooting out from the booth before she has to face another second of humiliation. Even still, she can feel the stupidly big smile on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“Awww, Yazzy!” Clara pleads for her to stay.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you’ve done it now,” she laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t go, you’re so sexy,” Bill crack and lets out a laugh when Yaz stick up her middle finger as she leaves.</p><p> </p><p>Her phone buzzes again as she looks for a quieter spot at the bar. It sends a roll of excitement right through her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Unknown [9:29pm]:</em>
  </b>
  <em> I wanna see you again on Friday.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Not seeing anywhere viable in the queue, Yaz makes a last-minute decision. She steps outside into the cold night air, passing two guys that smell overpoweringly of Strongbow and Lynx, one of which looks vaguely familiar.</p><p> </p><p>Perching on the damp wall, she bites her lip and presses the call button.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Yaz?”</em> Her familiar accent filters through the line, a little cracklier than how she’d heard it spoken, moaned, gasped.</p><p> </p><p>“Used to getting your way, aren’t you?” She says, feeling a little surge of adrenaline at her boldness.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Not with you,” </em>comes her muffled voice through the speaker. <em>“Let me see you again?”</em></p><p> </p><p>Yaz wonders what she’s doing. She can’t hear anything in the background, she’s probably at home. Maybe she’s watching TV or in bed with a book. Maybe she’s got her laptop with her, sorting through the photos from earlier. Maybe she’ll get off the line and prop her screen up on the pillow and touch herself to them, imagining Yaz is still listening.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Please?” </em>Her voice is petulant, laced with that neediness Yaz is coming to crave.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s better,” she commends and she can sense the other woman smiling down the phone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I’ll send a car for you at 8.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll wear something red,” Yaz promises and then, after a second of tense silence, cuts the line.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you all so much for your comments and kudos on chapter one, i was absolutely amazed😭😭😭 i hope this one matches in quality and horniness !! </p>
<p>if you’re 21+ and want to join a discord server all about thasmin, you can join here: https://discord.gg/kfGfJQ8</p>
<p>this is a new server and we’re still working out the kinks (pun intended) so please read the rules once you’ve joined and have fun!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A toilet flushes behind them and a girl in a big pink dress staggers out. She’s got big features and blonde hair and Yaz clocks her as a fellow model right away — she’s far too drunk to be here networking. They exchange a polite smile as she sways to the door, coming face to face with Bill smuggling three glasses of champagne into the ladies room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t be drunk yet,” Yaz says, talking like a ventriloquist as Clara relines her lips in a deep berry red. They’re only two drinks in but Yaz had promised herself she wouldn’t make a scene until everyone else had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s free champagne?” Bill frowns, putting the flutes down on the marble sink top and sliding one over to Clara.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t be drunk, she’ll look like Lady Cassandra,” Clara jokes as she examines her work under the harsh bathroom lights.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my god. What happened to you two? I thought this was a party.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’d been a rush for Yaz to get here after her shoot ran over. She’d sneaked in through the Torchwood Hotel dining hall, brimming with esteemed guests attending the annual Davros charity gala — <em>WHO Magazine’s </em>parent company. Her black party dress, plunging neckline and stiletto heels had gathered a few judgmental looks as she’d weaved through the crowd, sparking a small pang of jealousy at her friends’ far more respectable career choices.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah with our boss,” Clara reasons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Yaz’d read the article <em>‘Everything you need to know about attending a gala’</em> in the Uber on her way here, it’d been mostly bullshit about charisma in networking. Chugging her first glass of champagne on arrival was a far more efficient method of calming her nerves. <em>Like any of these people could work a set, </em>she thinks. Fortunately, the gala is not their intention for the evening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’know how many celebrities are meant to be here tonight?” Yaz says, finally relaxing her posture and patting her lips together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz you’re a model, you work with celebs all the time,” Bill says, checking her own reflection.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I saw Amelia Pond on my way in,” she smirks and Bill makes nervous eye contact with her in the mirror.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you think I should’ve worn something else?” She asks and Yaz snorts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I like the jumpsuit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This lighting is shit,” Clara grumbles, tapping her brush on the side of the highlight before swiping it over Yaz’s cheekbones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s just a touch-up,” Yaz insists, holding her face up as if she were absorbing the first rays of sun on a summer morning. “Y’think we’ll even be allowed in?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re smart, accomplished… and really hot — course we will,” she says, adding the final touches of mascara on to Yaz’s lashes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You think they’re gonna send the face of <em>Petrichor </em>away?” Bill grins, wiggling her fingers around Yaz’s freshly-made face in the mirror. She rolls her eyes but smiles despite herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I saw someone call it a granny perfume,” she says, picking up her glass with a pout.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where?” Clara asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“On twitter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz, don’t go on twitter,” Bill advises, giving her a stern look. Yaz knows she’s right but her capacity for self restraint when it comes to such things is limited.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ready?” Clara asks, popping the final item back into her clutch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ready ready.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Finally,” Bill reproaches lightheartedly as they make their way to the door. The music is tinkering away politely on the other side, soothing the swathes of editors and journalists and board members as they sip the remains of their champagne and donate thousands of pounds to Davros’s chosen charity, <em>The</em> <em>Scientific Elite, </em>out of peer pressure. It’s already 10:30 pm, Yaz has long missed the fancy dinner and the painfully dull speeches about charity and privilege and progression. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right, what’s the—Oh, alright. See you later then, mate?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As soon as they make it back to the main event space, Clara makes a sharp left and heads straight for the exit, marching with an undisclosed purpose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” she calls back with a smile as she makes her way and Yaz realises how short she is compared to everyone else the farther away she gets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Someone’s gotta teach that girl how to say bye,” Yaz says, a bit bemused.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, shit. It’s River. Shut up. Shut up.” Bill slaps Yaz’s forearm in warning but it’s not enough to prepare her for the sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her warm face is haloed with a ridiculous amount of golden curls, framing her features. Her dress is scattered with silver sequins and grazes the floor, tight around her figure and with a plunging neckline. She’s regal, opulent, formidable. Yaz’s posture tightens as if there was a deity in their midsts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill. I hope you ladies have enjoyed yourselves,” she smiles, greeting them warmly with a voice that drips with confidence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was a great turn out,” Bill smiles and gestures to the room with her glass. The crowd is just starting to thin enough that the strewn about napkins on the floor are becoming an eyesore. Yaz just catches a flash of red hair dipping into the service lift as Amy and Rory begin their climb up to the penthouse suite. They’re both wearing merlot red — her a crisp dress and him a neatly tailored suit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, this is Yasmin Khan,” Bill starts again, encouraging Yaz to take River’s hand. She does so far too quickly, all the while panicking her hand is sweaty. “Yeah, she’s the new face of <em>Petrichor.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz winces at the introduction when River clearly has no clue what <em>Petrichor </em>is, being far below her usual price point. She gives a polite but confused smile. Maybe she should explain, maybe she should say <em>something</em>. “Um, it’s just—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Darling,”—Yaz swallows the rest of her sentence when River makes eye contact with someone over her shoulder and lights up with a mischievous smile—“Misogyny still paying the bills?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh c’mon, River. You know <em>VORTEX</em> has an equal objectification policy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sound of a strong American accent fills her ears as Jack Harkness, clearly already a few drinks in, takes River’s hand. He plants a sloppy kiss there before cackling and planting fake ones on each cheek as to not disturb her makeup.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are they shaggin?” Yaz mutters to Bill as the greeting goes on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz, catch up mate,” she mutters back, not letting the smile plastered across her face drop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your August issue was a treat,” River smiles widely, stroking Jack’s face with her hand. “‘<em>The Rebel Flesh’.</em> And here I thought we left sexy police officers back in 2010.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack clutches his chest in mock-hurt but cackles at her dig. “Oh, you know I love a woman who knows how to wound.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well aware, sweetie,” she says, holding his gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time while Bill and Yaz are left to bear witness. “Bill, I don’t believe you’ve officially met Jack Harkness,” she says eventually.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill Potts. Head of social media,” she says smoothly, holding out her hand to be shaken. Yaz tries not to smile at the air of professionalism she knows to be so at odds with Bill’s personality. Then she adds, with a knowing grin, “I was a big fan of the August issue.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I bet you were,” Jack winks, drunkenly tapping the side of his nose and Yaz chuckles at the concept of Bill’s sexuality being anything but overt. He regards Yaz for a moment before smiling warmly and asking, “and you must be…?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yasmin Khan,” she starts, holding out her hand just like Bill did. “I’m just… Bill’s plus one.” That seems a more fitting title, juxtaposed by the two biggest editors-in-chief in the city. She doesn’t let herself analyse how she feels about that — not tonight. Such ruminations lodge in her throat if she’s not careful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, nice to meet you, Yasmin Khan,” he says, swaying slightly. He doesn’t shake her hand like he did Bill’s, instead taking it between both of his and holding it gently. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, don’t start,” River scolds with a smirk and a shake of her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was just saying hello! Can’t I say hello to anyone?” He laughs but drops her hand anyway. <em>Was he just flirting with me? </em>It’s not an unusual scenario for Yaz but not from a name like Jack Harkness. “Ah, I hate to break up a party but my girl just got here, if you ladies will excuse me,” he says, eyeing some unseen face across the room and waving. “You’re all coming up for the after-party, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wouldn’t miss it, mate,” Bill assures him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I like you already,” he says with a big lolling grin and a sure finger pointed at Bill’s face. “River?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ask me again next year, maybe then you’ll get lucky,” she says and he clutches his chest again in delight before jogging off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She gives a throaty chuckle as he disappears and shakes her head slightly. “Good work on the Miss Kizlet outreach project, Bill. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in dire need of nightcap.” She waves her empty glass and then saunters off across the venue, gliding as if she’s evolved beyond the use of legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think that went well,” Bill nods, letting out a long breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do y’do that every day? I feel sick,” Yaz says, resisting the urge to fan under her arms where an unusual amount of sweat has gathered. She’s not sure how that went so terribly when all she’d managed to say was her name but then, she’s never been good with professional environments.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You need another drink, that’s why,” Bill nods to her glass and Yaz is surprised to see it empty again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a freezing cold hand on her arm and then Clara is there, hair a bit windswept from her little adventure. “Hi, what did I miss?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where the fuck did you go?” Bill asks, moving them all towards the unmanned bar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I went to pick up,” she grins, wiggling her clutch — she manages to fit so much in that little thing Yaz is sure the internal dimensions must exceed the external ones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who are y’buying weed off at a charity fundraiser?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ashildr,” she says plainly and then rolls her eyes when neither of them know who she means. “The cool one with the tattoos. …Tattooed Clara.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They both let out little noises of realisation at that, having given up on names for non-mutual friends a while ago. Thirteen has since been designated ‘Vortex’, ‘Snaps’ and ‘The Photographer’ — Yaz is still waiting to see which one sticks. She’s sure after their date tomorrow she’ll find out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are we early?” Clara asks, looking at her lock-screen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill shakes her head as she swallows the last of her drink. “We met Jack, consider us officially invited.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You met him? What’s he like?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“American,” Bill states and Clara tuts at her unhelpful description. Yaz holds out her flute as Bill picks up an open bottle of champagne.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright… To us…” She says as she pours. Yaz watches the overflowing bubbles fizz on to the royal blue hotel carpet and feels a flurry of excitement in her chest. Excitement of being here, in London, with amazing friends and prospects on the horizon and—<em>Shit, Yaz. You’re so gross, </em>some voice in the back of her head that sounds eerily like Sonya says, but she beams nonetheless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And the most exclusive party in London…” Clara adds for good measure as they hold up their flutes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cheers!” The clicking of their glasses instantly imprints on Yaz’s synapses. They all dramatically demand eye contact as glass connects with glass — a necessity for an official cheers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ok, chug it though ‘cause we can’t take the glasses up with us. I got looks when I took them to the loos,” Bill says before downing the fizzy drink, drawing a snort from Yaz and Clara.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I heard someone say Vastra’s here,” Clara says, wincing slightly as the fizz surely burns her throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Here</em> here? Like upstairs? You gonna finally make your move?” Bill smirks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shut up,” she scolds, placing her glass down on a random table as they make their way towards the little service lift for the penthouse suite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I saw Missy talking to River,” Yaz recalls. She’d been far shorter than Yaz had expected but still donned the same eccentric clothes she’s known for; a deep purple dress with lace on the front, somehow both gothic and stuffy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You gonna say hi?” Clara asks, pushing the button until it glows red.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz shakes her head firmly — she can’t think of anything more terrifying. Besides, she doubts Missy cares about her at all beyond her face. Well, her body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck off, I—” She starts but her forth glass has clearly worn her down as she’s forgotten her own rule: don’t gossip in front of an unopened lift.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen smiles from inside the box as the doors trundle open, leaning up against the back wall. Yaz is frozen to the spot for a moment. She hasn’t seen her since their little moment—well, since she fucked her in the middle of a shoot. But now, here she is, scrubbed up in an oversized, expensive-looking grey suit that doesn’t reach her ankles and a pair of squeaky white trainers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Penthouse?” She asks with a little smug face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, thanks,” Yaz says coolly, stepping into the tiny lift as her mates follow her in. Before she can think more about it, she turns her back to her and faces the door as if they were any two strangers. Her body seems to radiate heat up against Yaz’s back but she knows that can’t be the case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re the face of her campaign, Yaz, you should introduce yourself. Plus, now you’re so closely aquatinted with The Photographer—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill,” Yaz cuts her off before she can say anymore. She tries not to gasp when she feels hands on her hips and Yaz <em>knows</em> Thirteen is smiling just behind her ear as Bill talks about her, totally unaware she’s privy to the conversation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I still can’t believe that,” Clara pipes up with a chuckle, her eyes locked on to the climbing lift numbers. “How does that even come about? She’s just like ‘hey, wanna have sex?’ and then she just.. takes photos of your tits?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz curses the alcohol for Clara’s blabbermouth when there’s a sigh of laughter in her ear. Thirteen snakes her hands around her waist until her fingers dance beneath the curve of her breasts. They wrap around her ribs and tug until she’s flush against her — two bodies intertwined.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, she definitely didn’t ask,” Yaz says, trying to keep the breathlessness out of her voice as she leans her head back into the touch, resting it on Thirteen’s shoulder. <em>What the fuck am I doing?</em> There’re teeth pulling her earlobe into a warm mouth and it makes Yaz squirm, the necessity of keeping quiet multiplying the feeling tenfold. She stares at the back of her friends’ heads, telepathically signalling for them to stay facing forward.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God, I miss being twenty-three,” Clara sighs and Yaz <em>wishes</em> she could sigh when a hand slides up to cup her breast, massaging it gently over her dress. Yaz wants to reach back and touch her, wants to shove her against the mirror and kiss her and bite her lip for being so utterly presumptuous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Isn’t she like forty? Don’t think it’s an age thing,” Bill says and Yaz stifles a laugh when the biting on her neck stops and Thirteen takes a little breath as if she were about to protest. Yaz can hear it in her head: <em>‘Oi, I’m only thirty-seven!’</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, she’s really fuckin’ old,” Yaz digs and has to literally bite her lip to stop the amalgamation of a laugh and a moan that wants to spring from her throat when Thirteen both tuts in offence and pinches her nipple in retribution. It sends a spark of desire straight through her, fizzing down her spine and bursting in her core and she presses her thighs together to capture it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Vastra’s forty-eight,” Clara muses, mostly to herself at this point but it doesn’t stop Bill shooting her a look.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Clara, will you please just shag her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz wishes she could laugh at that one but Thirteen has her nose buried in the back of her hair, nuzzling into her scalp as her fingers lazily scratch her nipple through her dress. Any noise released from her mouth will surely be a deep groan. Thirteen’s other hand skims the hem of her dress, just grazing her thigh and Yaz wonders if she’s bold enough to slip underneath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t, she’s married.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She decides she wants her to — both to feel perpetually guilty fingers gliding against her already wet underwear and so she can grab her wrists later and be justified tying them behind her back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An index finger hooks under the tight elastic at her ass, hand disappeared beneath her dress. She pulls the fabric taut against Yaz’s clit but it’s a mere tease, nowhere near enough contact. She tugs it a few times, sending pulses of electricity fizzing around her. Yaz wonders what Bill and Clara might see if either of them were to turn around — her head thrown back on an apparent stranger’s shoulder while she pulls her hair with her teeth and gropes her chest like something out of a porno.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my god,” Clara shakes her head at Bill’s smirking face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The lift slows in that way that makes Yaz’s stomach flip and music from the penthouse can be heard through the metal doors. With a regretful sigh, Yaz pulls herself away from the woman behind her, knocking away her wandering hands and reorganising her underwear as the lift opens.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s one last pinch on the inside of her thigh, which she slaps away with a smirk, and then she exits the lift without looking back. It’s an odd little trip of power knowing how she’s left Thirteen — horny and alone in that little box, probably biting her lip and shifting on the spot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Metal doors lead straight into the living room. It’s lit with warm glowing orbs that hang above the sunken lounge, allowing full view of the floor to ceiling windows that cover two walls. Everyone seems taller here, clothed in short dresses with long bronzed legs and jewellery that looks more expensive than anything Yaz owns. The heavy, slow base of the music vibrates her chest, merging with her desire-riddled heartbeat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Bill exclaims over the noise, both at the interior design and the insane amount of attractive women. Yaz looks around at her friends and hates how stuffy they look, stood in a line, eyes bulging at the luxury before them. Clearly outsiders.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m gonna get a drink,” she calls back, suddenly hit with a desire to move about before anyone can peg her as a fraud — a desperately horny one, at that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll have whisky,” Bill says, already smiling at a girl across the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz weaves through the crowd. It’s not packed but she feels obliged not to disturb anyone’s conversations. There’re a few faces she recognises. Some are vague memories of magazine covers, others she’s worked with and forgotten the names of. There’s the blonde girl from the bathroom, her lips smeared in rose red. The model she’d seen on the example shoot photos—Missy’s favourite—is drinking a beer and wearing a red leather jacket like maybe she’s not staying or perhaps she’s far too acclaimed to be bothered to dress up for such parties anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The terrace is just as expansive as the rest of the suite, the skyline glittering for miles as the city lights up and the night paints the sky black. There’re fairy lights strung about and heaters warming the place and the girls don’t shiver in their dresses so neither does Yaz. She grabs a glass—a real glass, not a plastic one—and a bottle of Balvenie scotch and pours herself a drink and pretends she doesn’t feel like she’s stealing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’told them?” A voice behind her says and then Thirteen’s hands are back on her hips, spinning her around and pushing her against the terrace wall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’really should be more careful sending photos like that,” Yaz smiles as she sips her drink. “How did you even know it were my number?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I asked your manager,” she says and shrugs a little sheepishly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You asked Donna for my number?” Yaz can’t even imagine how that conversation went with Donna’s insistent curiosity and Thirteen’s apparent lack of subtlety.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think she likes me. Or maybe she was just in a bad mood. She called me a <em>VORTEX</em> slut but I hadn’t even mentioned the photos,” she rambles, clearly replaying the phone call in her head. The things Yaz’d do to have heard it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That is so inappropriate,” Yaz scolds halfheartedly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you annoyed?” She asks, scanning her big eyes over Yaz’s face for clues.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Very,” she says firmly but the smirk around her mouth lets her down easily and she gives a little sigh of relief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I like the dress,” she declares, licking her lips. Her eyes dip down over Yaz’s chest, taking in the view of her plunging neckline. It’s not red but it’ll do. She moves her hands from around her waist to her ribs as if she were about to push her tits together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sure you do,” Yaz smirks as she watches her enthralled expression. It might be the heater they’re stood next to but Yaz is pretty sure she’s already flushed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Doctor!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen leaps back suddenly, spinning on her feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s been a while, how are you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Making their way through the crowd is Rory Williams, his red suit painfully similar in shade to the roman costume he wears on <em>The Pandorica Opens. </em>He’s grinning a bit with that dumb face he always has on, his <em>‘I’m just happy to be here’</em> face that makes him look to be in a perpetual state of confusion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rory!” Thirteen smiles widely, welcoming him in a quick, awkward hug Yaz has to note as painfully cute. It’s funny to see how she interacts with other people for the first time. “Yeah, know me. Always good,” she nods and they smile politely like friends who perhaps aren’t each other’s first choice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Doctor?” Yaz looks between them with a frown at the nickname.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, this is Yasmin Khan, she’s worked with Amy too,” Thirteen says, dodging the question and sliding her arm around Yaz’s shoulder — it’s slightly possessive for a woman she’s only met twice but Yaz decides it must be the alcohol loosening the reins.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz, please,” she smiles, taking Rory’s hand in a pragmatic shake. Sonya would literally die if she was here and Yaz can’t wait to rub it in her face that she’s not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was my stag-do,” he starts with a cheeky smile. “She got drunk and fell into the cake. Sliced her hand open on the knife and refused to go to the hospital. It nearly took her little finger but she said it would ‘grow back’.” He uses air quotes around the words and laughs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz assumes there’s far more to the story to warrant the nickname but snorts at the image nonetheless. Thirteen drunkenly sprawled on the floor covered in icing and cut on her finger feels strangely on brand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Very impressive medical knowledge,” she chuckles and looks at the side of Thirteen’s face as she looks at the floor. Her fingers are fiddling with Yaz’s necklace, right where the gold metal nestles against her cleavage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not one of my finer moments,” she says, scrunching up her nose. She’d never of had her pegged for a party animal but Yaz’s learnt it’s the quiet ones that are always getting themselves into trouble on nights out.“Can I get you a drink, Rory?” She asks, deflecting again as the heel of her palm presses into Yaz’s breast. <em>Is she doing that on purpose?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, no all good here,” he says. “Off it tonight, someone’s got to keep track of Amy.” He bobs his head and gives a polite chuckle and then there’s just the awkward silence of people who aren’t sure how to get on without their mediator. <em>Where is Amy, anyway?</em> Yaz ponders. “Well, anyway…” He says, pointing back behind him before turning on his heels to make his awkward departure.<em> God, he’s worse than her</em>, Yaz thinks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Enjoying yourself, are you?” She cocks an eyebrow at her hand where it rests just a bit too innocently over her breast.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, so are you,” she stutters, a blush dusting her cheeks even as she scratches over the fabric, drawing attention to the hardened flesh beneath. She pulls her arm back, gripping her ribs again as she did before, thumbs resting just below the swell of her breasts. “I <em>really</em> like the dress,” she murmurs, hypnotised by the sight as she goes to plant a kiss on Yaz’s sternum.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“People can see,” Yaz mutters over the sound of her heart beating in her ears, eyeing the crowd over Thirteen’s blonde hair. She’s just a bit shorter than Yaz in her flat trainers and it’s surprisingly endearing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a hand on her wrist, tugging her along the terrace wall and down the side of the penthouse. Then they’re alone in an alley, just the expansive skyline and the service ladder up to the roof to keep them company.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now they can’t,” she says, pushing Yaz up against the wall and carrying on with her nuzzling. Her breath is warm against her skin in the night as she feels the curve of Yaz’s breast with the sensitive nerves in her lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Excuse me?” Yaz coughs and feigns her most outraged of tones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Thirteen looks up, chin resting on her chest, an element of defensive worry in her voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’gonna kiss me first?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh,” she starts, a bit flustered by the admonishment but wastes no time diving up to push her mouth against Yaz’s. She tastes like sweet Disaronno, her tongue hot and exploratory, running along the backs of her teeth and licking her tongue like it’s curing her thirst. She’s bolder than the first time, has been all night, but Yaz suspects that’s an amalgamation of time and alcohol.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she moves down to scrape her teeth over Yaz’s neck, her thumb slips under the hem at her cleavage, quickly finding and pressing against her nipple and it draws a rumbling moan from her chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She draws back to look—always has to look, like a kid watching a science experiment—as she peels back the fabric and plucks her nipple between finger and thumb.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’just wanna touch everything, don’t you?” Yaz breathes, her hand finding perfect blonde hair as she dips down to lick across the dark hard flesh. The wet muscle wriggles and Yaz feels the warmth and roughness of her tastebuds. “Biting and licking and grabbing…” She sighs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen groans a little bit before pulling away. “Um, we could leave,” she swallows, eyes finally flicking up. They’re wide and focused despite the alcohol.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why would I leave?” She asks, smirking at the way Thirteen’s face falls with offence at Yaz choosing a party over her. “Don’t be stroppy,” she scolds, hooking her thumb over her bottom teeth and jostling her head like one might a dog.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“After the party then? If y’not too tired,” she bargains once her face is released and then adds a meek little “please?” with a tease of her wet nipple.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz kisses her. She can’t resist when she looks so eager and wide-eyed. She makes a little <em>oomf</em> noise at the sudden kiss, stepping back on one foot to keep balance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I’m not too tired,” she smiles when she pulls back and reorganises her dress. “You scrub up nice too, by the way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen holds her arms out as the suit jacket hangs off her, the pinstripes contrasting with her trainers. “Jack picked it for me,” she says, a bit embarrassed as she scrunches her nose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He your sugar daddy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eugh, what? No,” she frowns, her face contorting in a different way as she adamantly denies the claim and Yaz giggles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m kidding, babe—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where is she, huh? Thirteen!! We’ve got whiskey and a ping pong ball, I need you on my team!” Jack’s voice comes bellowing from around the corner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Think that’s your cue,” Yaz says, jutting her head in his direction but for the life of her, she can’t imagine Thirteen to be any good at beer pong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grumbles like she doesn’t want to leave before turning to walk away. Then she turns back and kisses her quickly, awkwardly, like she’d have to steal it before anyone could stop her — probably herself. It lands on the corner of Yaz’s mouth and then she’s walking away, eyes set firmly on the ground. Yaz chuckles and shakes her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she finally makes it back to Bill and Clara, they’ve made themselves at home on one of the plush cream sofas.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where’ve you been? You look horny,” Clara asks, shifting over to make room for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How can you always tell?” Yaz frowns as she takes the end spot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She can’t, she’s just projecting,” Bill jabs as she takes the offered glass from Yaz’s hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oi!” She tuts, scooting forward to pick up the little glasses filled with something translucent on the coffee table. “Come on, shots then,” she says, passing one to Yaz.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It turns out to be tequila, which Yaz is relived about because she still can’t hack vodka since the night Bill had put her heel in a puddle that ended up being two-foot deep and took them all down with her. The injuries were minimal, but the embarrassment wasn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first two hours pass in a blur, as time usually does when saturated in an abundance of alcohol and karaoke and, at some point, lap dances. Yaz is drunk enough not to care that her dress is from ASOS and her and Clara’s rendition of<em> Britney Spear’s Toxic </em>goes down a treat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen seems to be making her way through just as many drinks in her own right, mostly because Yaz was right about her beer pong skills. Every time she misses a cup she unveils another reason why it <em>would’ve</em> gone in: if only Jack hadn’t distracted her, if only Amy weren’t so tall. She steals glances at her from across the room every now and then that Yaz can only interpret as whining pleas of <em>‘can we go get?’</em> Each one sends a flurry of anticipation to her core.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By 1 am she’s lost track of Bill and Clara, dancing with the other models she’s learnt go by Rose and Martha. There’s a clinking of metal on glass and a little scuffle and people eventually slow their chatting and dancing when the music is turned down. Missy has managed to climb up on to the coffee table, swaying slightly as she does so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oi!” She shouts, tapping her glass so harshly Yaz fears she might crack it like a boiled egg. When the room quietens, she looks the crowd dead in the eyes as if she’s about to scold them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know, sometimes you meet someone with such a beautiful face and then when you talk to them they’re as dull as a brick…” She starts. “And I’ll tell you now, there’s no shortage of it in this industry. No offence,” she hiccups, her words slurring as she glances at a few offended models to her left and rolls her eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well… not on my campaign. Not <em>Petrichor,” </em>she claims fervently, her Scottish accent seemingly more prominent with the alcohol. Yaz starts to feel a stone of anxiety in her gut when her campaign gets a name drop. <em>She can’t be talking about me can she? She’s never met me. Is she about to invite me on stage? Well, on the coffee table? </em>The crowd seem mostly bemused by her drunken rambling and Yaz fears it’ll only get worse when she invites a nobody up to talk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>“</em>So, if we could all raise our <em>fucking</em> glasses…” She wobbles as she holds her flute up and waits for the room to follow her lead — which they do, mostly out of fear than anything else. “May I introduce to you all, the beautiful, elegant, funny, not dumb-as-a-fucking-brick, face of <em>Petrichor…”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>“</em>It’s ‘<em>the girl who waited’</em>… Ms Amelia Pond everybody!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck?” Yaz’s words are ever so gratefully absorbed by the eruption of applause for Amy. The stone in her belly suddenly turns into an anchor of confusion and disappointment as she watches the scene unfold. No one’s even looking at her, she’s simply another face in the adoring crowd, but she feels put on the spot. She feels hot and drunk and confused and—<em>what the fuck?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Missy staggers on the table, kicking off a glass before regaining her balance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe a glass of water?” Rory’s voice filters through the chaos as she inelegantly clambers down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck off, Rory. She’s Scottish.” She hears Amy. “Right—No, I’m not getting on the fucking table. Right, I hope everyone is sufficiently drunk…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The room clouds over and Yaz realises it’s because she backing out, feeling for the wall behind her and turning to exit down the hall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you alright, babe?” Martha asks but she’s already turning, fleeing from the scene.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill?” She calls out, voice echoing down the hall. <em>What the fuck?</em> “Bill?! Fuck.” The blast of cool air on her face is sobering when she gets back out onto the terrace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yazzy!!” Her friend calls, arm around the waist of a girl with tousled sandy hair and a striking iris. She’s playing beer pong with Jack and a few others, clearly too far gone to be of much use in the current situation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where’s Clara?” She calls across the terrace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think she went for a piss, mate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Yaz sighs, turning on her heels to head back down the hall. It all feels a bit surreal like she’s not sure if she’s overreacting or if the worst really did just happened. <em>Did I just get fired?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Clara?” She calls, tapping on the bathroom door and pressing an ear against it. She hears what sounds like a muffled ‘yes’ so pushes open the door. “Clara—Oh, fuck!!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first thing she sees is a lace thong wrapped around a heel-clad ankle. It stops Yaz in her tracks as her eyes slide up the toned bare leg to find it hooked over a shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz?!” Clara squeaks from her position up against the bathroom wall. Her fingers grip the sink, knuckles white against marble, and her dress is skewed. Vastra pins her hips against the wall from between her legs — clearly not having noticed the intrusion until Clara’s exclamation of the wrong name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my god!” Yaz blinks and starts, slamming the bathroom door shut and covering her mouth with her hand. “What the fuck is going on?” She mutters to herself, laughing despite the rollercoaster ride of emotions running through her. With both of her friends out of order, she heads to the next best thing: a big wide view of the city. Yaz’s always thought a change of perspective helps in times like these.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The air is cool and the lights sparkle like stars and Yaz wonders what it’d be like to be in space as she looks out over the terrace wall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re not gonna jump, are you?” Amy asks from behind her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” she grumbles with a roll of her eyes. She isn’t sure how angry she’s allowed to be. “Thanks,” she says as takes the cigarette on offer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t wanna be the face of <em>Petrichor,</em>” she says, lighting her own and blowing out a plume of smoke. <em>“</em>It’s a granny perfume.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So why are you doing it?” Yaz asks, the flame warming her face for a second as Amy ignites her cig.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Raggedy Anne is gonna be in trouble with Missy if I don’t,” she says and Yaz can only assume she means Thirteen. <em>Why all the nicknames?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How is she Raggedy Anne when you’re ginger?” Probably isn’t the question to be asking at a time like this but Amy laughs wholeheartedly and it lightens her mood. The nicotine makes her dizzy for a second and her limbs feel cold in the night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, Missy is an old, drunk has-been. She hasn’t ran a successful campaign since she was a bloody Zygon designer in 1995,” she says, matter-of-factly, stubbing out her cigarette on the wall. “You’re young, you’re hot, you’ll get your big deal in no time. You’re on Jack Harkness’s roof for fuck sake! Wooo!!” She calls out proudly and leans over the edge of the terrace as if to mock whichever poor sod resides below.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Yaz smiles, comforted by her words more than she’d expected. She was so happy just a few hours ago, raising a glass with her friends — the loss of one campaign can’t change that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God, she looks like she just ate a bunch of toilet paper and shat on the carpet,” Amy observes, looking over Yaz’s shoulder through the floor to ceiling windows. Thirteen is stood in the hall by herself, guiltily worryingher lip and staring at her phone. Yaz wonders if she’s trying to call her but her phone is in Clara’s clutch. She paces back and forth, spinning and turning and occasionally stumbling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is when I spray her with water?” Yaz asks, chuckling when she feels Amy wrap her arm around her shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly,” she says and plants a lipgloss-sticky kiss on her cheek that smells like strawberries and pink gin. “And enjoy it!” She adds with a wink as she walks off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen forces a little smile when she sees Yaz approaching. “Yaz, hi,” she starts, bouncing on her feet with nervous energy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve got some explaining to do,” she chides, raising her eyebrows expectantly and Thirteen’s face crumples.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I swear I didn’t know. I-I haven’t spoken to Missy, I just found out—“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck happened?” She asks, cutting her off as she fumbles for her words, her face a perfect picture of apology Yaz mournfully registers as endearing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-I attached, accidentally, some test shots of Amy from before your shoot when I sent off your photos and then Missy misunderstood and thought I’d signed her up for the campaign but I didn’t mean to, I swear it was an accident and—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop talking,” Yaz says before she turns blue from oxygen deprivation. She swings open a nearby door and finds it leads to the empty spare room.<em> Why didn’t Clara just come in here? </em>Some distant voice ponders.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Yaz,” she babbles as Yaz drags her in by the arm and slams the door shut behind them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“D’y’know how fucking embarrassing that was?” She asks and the lights flick on when the door slams. She stalks up to her, walking her backwards until her legs hit the side of the bed. Pushing her back until she’s laying on the crisp white sheets, she straddles her thighs and it all moves so quickly under the intoxicated haze.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry—“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill’s been fucking introducing me as ‘the face of fucking <em>Petrichor’ </em>all night,” she slates, untucking the white muscle tee from her suit trousers and shoving it up. “All for me to be upstaged by Amelia fucking Pond, <em>again.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m… W-Are we…?” She looks down at her exposed bra like she isn’t entirely sure what’s going on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Take off y’shoes,” Yaz commands and tries not to laugh when it clocks and Thirteen eagerly shimmies about beneath her, kicking off her trainers. She smothers her mouth with a kiss, pushing her tongue into her mouth to taste the apology that lingers there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The grey blazer gets discarded on the bed and Yaz admires little moles on her arms as the top gets yanked over her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’think you can really afford to be so clumsy with your files with the type of photos you take?” Yaz taunts, pinning her thighs down with her weight as she peels back the cups on her bra, letting it sit around her waist like a belt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-I don’t take photos like that all the time,” she protests, eyes screwing shut when Yaz dips down to lick across the newly exposed pink of her nipples, pulling one between her teeth like a threat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just some of the time then?” She goads, kissing into her skin and sliding down her thighs. It doesn’t take much to unzip her trousers and slide the loose fabric down her legs. She takes her boxers with them, not wasting time, and tries not to register how they’re dotted with little cartoon cameras.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Um…” She starts her rebuttal but it dies on her lips when Yaz licks up the inside of her thigh, stopping before she reaches the little patch of blonde hair between her legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Very compelling,” Yaz teases. “Really, how am I ever supposed to trust you with those photos if you’re mixing me up with Amelia Pond?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shuffles back on the bed a bit, clearly struggling to keep track of the conversation when Yaz’s hand is on her knee, pushing her leg open. “I didn’t mix you up,” she retorts. “I just… mislabelled.” It comes out in a little mumble and Yaz beams.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her heels are off in a second and she hikes her dress up her thighs for manoeuvrability.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mislabelled,” Yaz echos as she crawls up the bed to kneel between her thighs, spreading them wider the higher she gets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll make it up to you,” she blurts suddenly, eyes wide at the sight of Yaz’s advance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Make it up to me?” Yaz cocks an eyebrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can make you come, I’ll do whatever you want,” she says and her pink tongue comes out to wet her lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz looks at her for a moment. Looks at her watering mouth and the way her fingers grip the sheets to stop herself from reaching out and touching Yaz.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Always just wanna touch, don’t you?” She slides her hand up a pale leg, not hesitating before running two fingers through her folds. They’re wet and warm and silky and Thirteen breathes heavily through her nose. “All of this from feeling me up?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz,” she groans when Yaz circles her clit, back arching a little as her hair gets mussed by the pillow and Yaz can’t help but lean in close to pull her bottom lip between her teeth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where’s your self restraint, huh? You’re like a puppy left alone with a box of food,” Yaz echos around her mouth, watching with rapt attention as Thirteen tries to deny the claim. Protests form on her lips and across her indignant, furrowed brows but they soon perish when Yaz pushes two fingers inside her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ff-Well if you wear a dress like that,” she groans through Yaz’s pumping fingers, blushing at the stimulation as well as Yaz’s scolding.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God, you’re a perv,” she snorts, planting a peck on her mouth. She pulls out as quickly as she started, wiping her wet fingers on her inner thigh as Thirteen gives a petulant little grumble. “Nah, you’re not gonna touch me. Not when you enjoy it so much.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s giving her best <em>‘but that’s not fair’</em> face, eyebrows knitted together with harmless fury. Yaz pokes the bottom lip that’s jutting out with her sticky fingers and she takes the digits into her mouth without complaint,eyelids fluttering when she tastes herself there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Roll over,” Yaz commands as she pulls her fingers out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?” She asks stubbornly. Goading and ecstatic and for no apparent reason other than to be difficult.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz cocks an eyebrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She turns. Gangly and cute and Yaz finally undoes the bra around her waist. Her back is a constellation of rich birthmarks, three in a triangle and two more further down, and Yaz wonders what her star sign is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She ferrets about in the lining of Thirteen’s discarded suit jacket for a moment before pulling out her phone. Her lock-screen is a photo of her and Jack Harkness at a swish pool side bar, clinking their tequila sunrises. She looks adorable with sunburnt cheeks and wet hair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are y’doing?” She asks from her disadvantaged position, her face half buried in the soft pillow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Making things even,” Yaz responds. She kisses down her spine, perfectly sweet, before scraping her nails — a back and forth from loveliness to punishment. “Lift,” she commands, tugging up her hips and Thirteen does as told. She looks so beautifully exposed like this — knees slightly parted with her ass in the air. Yaz kisses the back of her thigh, licks at where her wetness has smudged down her leg. Squeezing the soft flesh of one cheek, spreading her even more, Yaz teases at her entrance with her tongue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen huffs, biting her own forearm, her face flushed below her centre of gravity. Her hips try to push back into Yaz but the more she does it the further back Yaz retreats. “Please, Yaz,” she whines, pulling a bit of blonde hair out her mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz is quite frankly astounded at her own boldness as she pushes two fingers inside and watches them sink in, far deeper than she could get previously. Maybe if she weren't so drunk, weren’t so high from the ups and downs of the night, she’d be more reserved. Maybe then she’d be more embarrassed getting this woman she barely knows, nearly fifteen years her senior, to spread herself so intimately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen flutters around the intrusion as Yaz starts picking up a pace, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of her left cheek.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’gonna smile for me, babe?” She queries into the ivory skin as her fingers curl inside her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen makes a little questioning grunt as she tries to look at Yaz for clarification only to sigh a defeated laugh when she sees her holding her phone. Her head drops on to her forearms, hair hanging down around her face as she rocks back into Yaz’s fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz tuts a little, flicking across the screen to open the camera and pressing record. The framing is vulgar, not an inch of her left unseen. If Yaz couldn’t feel the warm, wet tightness around her fingers and hear the wet sounds from her cunt, she might be forgiven for thinking she was watching amateur porn (albeit a poor attempt, her coordination is apparently lacking as the camera shakes in her unsteady hand).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t hide y’face, puppy. I like it almost as much as this,” she purrs, planting a little kiss above where her fingers pump before raising the camera lens back up. “Can you come like this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m—Ff-I don’t know,” she pants into the pillow, words muffled by the feathers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Turn,” Yaz commands again, pulling out her fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She does so eagerly, sliding in closer, propped up on her elbows and spreading her knees for Yaz like she’s presenting her with a gift. Yaz catches a glimpse of how red her face is through the lens, catches her tongue coming out to soothe her bitten lip and how hard her little nipples are.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’ready?” She asks, running her thumb over her clit, through her blonde hair, and watches her nod, wide-eyed and hungry. “Say hi to me,” she directs, filming her face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen blushes even deeper under the limelight, her mouth curling up into a little smile as she looks at Yaz right through the lens. It’s wanton and intense, a look dripping with desire. “Hi Yaz,” she says, voice a little wary but husky with lust. She sighs when Yaz rubs her clit again, eyes fluttering as she smirks into the camera and says, “I miss you… wherever you are.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words catch Yaz off guard and cause a flash of heat to strike her<em>. Fuck.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pushes back inside, fuelled by the idea of fucking herself to those words late at night, replaying this moment in all its messy, debauched glory in the light of sobriety. The length of her neck is exposed as her head drops back, tendons and veins popping and then she flops back against the covers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz fucks her with one hand, rubbing her thumb up against her clit with every pump. The camera flicks between her face and her cunt, framing her rapid fingers, documenting skin against skin — it’s all glistening wetness, pink flesh, blonde hair, Yaz’s nimble hand and the jagged movements of the lens.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck, Yaz,” she pants, head thrown to one side. Yaz wants to taste her, so badly she wants to lick up the slick desire that pools about her fingers, but she’s determined. As a gift to her future self, she wants to capture the moment Thirteen comes undone around her — archived forever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“C’mon babe, show us all how well you can take it,” she taunts, curling her fingers up until they press into the spot that makes her hips roll. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ff-I’m gonna come,” she says, rather matter-of-factly and Yaz feels her cunt pulse at the words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Show me, babe,” she breaths, unable to keep the desire from her tone. “C’mon, I wanna see you come for me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a squeaking little <em>“Yaz!!” </em>a gush of hot fluid splatters across her thighs. Her back arches, her body freezes and her cunt tightens — the thread winding impossibly tight before snapping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz fucks her through it, muttering words of encouragement as she rides the waves of pleasure until she’s shuddering. <em>“Good girl. Good girl, babe.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wipes her sodden hand on the bedsheets, no regard for their location, and stops the recording before surging forward. Thirteen’s eyes are slid lazily shut and Yaz likes that she recognises her post-orgasm face. She kisses her neck while she recovers, then her ear, then her cheek, then her nose. She’s not usually this physically affectionate but something about the moment inspires it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yasmin Khan, y’gonna ruin me, you are,” she sighs, finally allowing herself to slide her arms around her waist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As long as I get to watch it over and over and over again… I don’t think I care,” she grins, emphasising each word with a nip on her pulse points. “Not when you look that fucking good.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Yaz pulls away to look into her eyes she’s met with a face of wonder. Her eyes leak a sense of adoration that makes Yaz swallow — much too intense for her current state.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Am I still in trouble?” She asks, twisting a strand of Yaz’s hair between her fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You askin’ me to fuck you again?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What d’y’want?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Anything… I can take it. Or-or I can do anything. I—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Be specific.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can you eat me out please?” She asks in a flurry and Yaz can’t help but chuckle at how pragmatic she sounds like she’s asking her to help move furniture or tie her tie. She frowns a little at Yaz’s laugh, eyes scanning her expression. “Don’t laugh at me,” she mutters, only half joking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“M’sorry,” Yaz smiles, probing her bottom lip with her thumb, their bodies flush together. “I won’t laugh at you,” she whispers and in her drunken state, it feels like a promise. She pushes their mouths together and kisses her longingly, their tongues melding together in a melting pot of silky desire. They kiss for so long Yaz feels her toes curl and something in her belly twist, a squirming tension bubbling over, and she moans. It reverberates between them, echoing about both of their chests.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen’s hips start to roll up to grind against Yaz’s front so she breaks the kiss to begin her descent. She’s slower than she has been previously, taking the time to learn her. She learns that her skin glitters with goosebumps when Yaz scratches her ribs. That her left nipple is more sensitive than the right and she that likes when Yaz uses her teeth there, just the threat of hurt setting her nerves alight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time she reaches the little patch of hair, Thirteen is sweating and squirming like she’s already being fucked. Her hips twitch and rock, little involuntary movements that Yaz revels in. Yaz can tell by the way she’s controlling her breathing she’s trying not to move too much or reach for Yaz, her fists on the sheets clenching and unclenching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz runs her tongue up her labia, testing and teasing, so gently that Thirteen trembles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’doing so well for me, aren’t you?” She asks, breath ghosting her clit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Thirteen whines with a little nod, looking down the line of her body, face filled with anticipation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Yaz sinks her tongue between her soaked folds, she tastes salty and piquant and she’s far wetter than she expected. It smudges against her chin as if she were eating a perfectly ripe fruit — sloppy and wet and tangy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen mewls above her, the noise of an injured animal. Her hands hover over Yaz’s hair and then drop back to the sheets, searching for some alternate anchorage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can touch me,” Yaz pulls away to permit her and immediately there’re fingers running through her hair. They scratch against her scalp, not an ounce of aggression to be found and it sends shivers down her spine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz swirls around the firmness of her clit, drawing circles with her tongue. She lays herself between her, cheap dress flush against the bed, and the soft skin of pale thighs brushes against her cheeks. Her fingertips cause little indentations in the flesh when she grips her tightly, hands wrapped around limbs like humans were made to be slotted together this way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen makes little grunts from her above her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She circles around the exterior of her entrance, slick coating her tongue. The muscles twitch below her with want and Yaz wishes she could live here on the precipice her desire all night. When she breaches her entrance, she parts effortlessly. Sinking into her feels like swallowing hot tea, feels like sinking into a hot bath — steamy, rich, luxurious. She can feel her trying to pull her in, warm and welcoming, and Yaz moans with satisfaction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen writhes above her, hips shifting as strained groans of Yaz’s name spill from her bitten lips. <em>“Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz…”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz’s tongue swirls inside her and feels the trembling of her walls. Everything is wet, everything is silky, everything is her. The louder she gets the more hungrily Yaz eats her, ripe nectar dripping down her chin. She tugs her hips, greedily drawing her closer, demanding more and more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen’s feet land on her back when she hooks her legs over her shoulders and only then does Yaz realise she’s still wearing her socks. The fabric is soft against her skin and Yaz wonders what colour they are.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-I’m…” She stutters and the hands in Yaz’s hair finally clutch, tugging at the follicles in a way that makes Yaz shudder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her thumb comes around to rub the slick skin over her clit. It pushes her and pushes her until her hips are rolling so hard Yaz has to pin her still with her forearm. She isn’t sure why she’s insistent on telling her whenever she’s about to come, the way her cunt tightens around her makes things obvious enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thighs snap together around Yaz’s ears and her body freezes. Yaz likes the way her cunt is the only thing that moves — fluttering like a butterflies wings while the rest of her is suspended in someplace where time doesn’t exist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She collapses in a heap, utterly spent. Yaz leaves a souvenir on her thigh in the shape of her teeth, little speckles of red and purple coming up under the skin to greet her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That what y’wanted?” She grins, dipping her tongue into her navel as she makes her way back up the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That were exactly what I wanted,” she sighs lazily, pushing Yaz’s hair behind her ear as she plants a gentle kiss over her nipple.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jammy one, you are,” she smiles into her skin.“Proper spoilt—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yazzy, are you—Yaz!!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz leaps about a foot in the air when the door swings wide and the music from the hall rushes in in waves. Bill stands at the foot of the bed, mouth agape with a certain look of glee plastered across her drunk face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who is that?!” She asks and points to Thirteen’s naked body. Yaz instinctively throws herself forward to cover her and Thirteen’s fingers grip the front of her dress to hold her there, a shield against wandering eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“…I said it’s is in the draws,” Jack calls and then he’s wandering in too. He scoots past Bill and around the bed, eyes on the floor like he hasn’t even noticed the spectacle happening up on the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jack!!” Thirteen squeaks from beneath Yaz, her face contorted with horror.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ohh, that’s my girl,” Jack says with a booming laugh as he takes stock of the situation and then suddenly he’s crouching by the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Um, what the fuck are you doing?!” Yaz interrogates as he starts ferreting about in the divan draws and she’s painfully aware of the open door to the ongoing party.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My suite lady, you wanting to bone in here won’t stop me getting mine,” he says, pulling out a bottle of champagne and putting it on the bed by Thirteen’s shin. “Hold that,” he says before going back for more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Yaz turns she’s horrified to see Bill <em>on </em>the bed, sprawled across the covers, eyes glassy with alcohol.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill get out!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that Snaps?! Are you Snaps?!” She slurs, looking between the pair as if this is totally acceptable behaviour.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my god.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their attention gets diverted once more when Clara stumbles in and for some incomprehensible reason, she’s wearing a motorcycle helmet and goggles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think that’s Snaps,” Bill says, pointing at Thirteen with a chuffed grin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Vortex!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thirteen’s eyes are shut tight with embarrassment as the scene goes on and on, surely willing the bed to consume her in one go. “Can you get them to leave please?” She asks painfully politely as she pulls Yaz closer, her own personal blanket. It makes something in Yaz’s belly lurch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill seriously fuck off!” She spits at her friend, hoping her tone is enough to be taken seriously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Bill says, lifting her hands in surrender as she slides off the bed, mobility clearly impaired by the alcohol.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Feisty one there, kid. I like her,” Jack grins, pulling out the last bottle and clumsily shutting the draw under the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Guys, leave them alone,” Clara slurs an attempt at scolding, squinting over the one goggle she’s pulled down, but Bill is already staggering back out into the hall.<em> Better late than never,</em> Yaz thinks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack grabs Thirteen’s socked foot on his way past, giving it a friendly waggle. “Enjoy!” He orders with a wink as he chaperones the rest of them out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then the door slams shut again, the music muffled and the whole thing feels as if it were a dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my god…” Yaz mutters, looking at Thirteen’s red face. She drops her face to the pillow in humiliation, her nose nuzzling into the crook of her neck. It smells like Thirteen’s shampoo and whatever soap she uses and Yaz finally lets a laugh shake her body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m so embarrassed,” Thirteen groans and her cheeks are as pink as they were earlier when Yaz pulls back to look.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m never gonna live that down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re dressed!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, <em>you’re</em> never gonna live that down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Least she didn’t sit in the wet patch.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yaz!!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A bubble of laughter springs out at Thirteen’s exasperated, scandalised expression. But she’s smiling — smiling with her whole face, her eyes lighting up and her mouth curling, despite her humiliation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why does she call me Snaps?” She asks, finally letting go of her dress to play with her hair again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz gives her frown that says <em>‘isn’t that obvious?’</em> as she pulls away. She lifts her hands to her face, creating a square with her fingers, framing Thirteen’s face through her pretend viewfinder. She clicks her index finger and makes a shutter noise, cackling when she sees Thirteen roll her eyes. She almost wishes it was a real camera just so she could capture it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think it’s catchy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yaz laughs as Thirteen bats her hands away — a joyous, unrestrained laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y’ve got the biggest smile I’ve ever seen,” she says and then licks her lips like the words were never supposed to slip out. She looks at Yaz’s mouth for a long moment and Yaz wonders if she takes mental pictures too. Her thumb comes up to prod at Yaz’s lip and asks quite straightforwardly, “am I allowed to touch you yet?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you ever just have an idea and then it snowballs into a 10k chapter no one has ever even hinted at being interested in reading? well here we are lads. enjoy xxxx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The air-freshener dangles happily from the rearview mirror, filling Yaz’s senses with some sickly sweet chemical concoction. It just about smothers the stench of alcohol seeping from her skin. A trickle of sweat drips down the back of her neck and she lets out a shaky breath, focusing on the road ahead instead of the awful jolts of the car.</p><p> </p><p>“I should’ve sat in the middle,” Bill whispers to herself, her pale face resting on her palm as she watches London whiz past.</p><p> </p><p>“I shouldn’t have opened that last bottle,” Clara mutters from Yaz’s other side. Her eyes are ringed by fading imprints from the motorbike goggles she’d passed out in — they’re all under strict instruction not to comment on it.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah or the one before that,” Yaz jabs. It draws defeated sighs from the two of them, grumbling and pathetic. Their bare arms touch, clammy on two sides and Yaz tries not to let it make her feel claustrophobic. The driver doesn’t seem at all concerned about his massive amplifier and electric guitar taking up the front seat. In fact, he’s barely said two words to them since they got in the car, his eyes covered by a pair of ray bans. </p><p> </p><p>“Can we get pho?” Clara asks, hopefulness filling her face for the first time today.</p><p> </p><p>“How can you even think about food right now?” Yaz frowns. The thought of food makes her stomach curl something awful.</p><p> </p><p>Bill breathes heavily through her nose to Yaz’s left. “I <em>really</em> should’ve sat in the middle.”</p><p> </p><p>“How can you not? I could eat a dead horse right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Clara, that is grim.” Yaz scrunches up her face, the imagery not sitting well with her already distraught insides.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I might be sick,” Bill whispers, barely audible.</p><p> </p><p>“Pho’s not grim. Pho’s delicious and warm and tasty,” Clara sighs, wistfully looking out her window, surely imagining her regular order.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz sighs through her nose. “Please stop talking a—”</p><p> </p><p>Bill suddenly yanks open her door, lurching as the car stops at a red light. She doesn’t even bother to get out, just sticks her head out the little gap, letting in the exhaust fumes from morning commuters. Yaz clenches her eyes shut, cringing as the sound of her retching fills the car.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Jesus Christ — are you kidding me?” The driver suddenly perks up and Yaz is surprised to hear a Scottish accent. “Not the upholstery!” </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, mate,” she grumbles as she rests back in her seat, slamming the door just as the lights turn green. “I swear I didn’t get it on anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“You better not have, she costs a fortune to clean!” He scolds, pulling off his glasses to reveal piercing eyes and a remarkable set of eyebrows that look independently angry to the rest of his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Just send me the bill through Uber, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Who is Uber?” He asks with a baffled expression.</p><p> </p><p>“…Uber? Y’know, the app? How we ordered the car,” Bill says, looking between him and Yaz to check she’s not going mad.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a Uber driver, I’m a professor,” he claims, equally as perplexed. “You all just got in here.”</p><p> </p><p>“…Excuse me?” Yaz asks, face dropping.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, what? Are we being kidnapped?” Clara perks up, her little face trying to peer around the seat at their potential captor.</p><p> </p><p>“Mate, you let us in here!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yes, I thought it was rather rude…” He says, shrugging like he’s just considered how bizarre three strangers getting in his car and demanding a ride is.</p><p> </p><p>“Bloody hell man, where are we going?”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe you grunted South Bank when you got in so…” He trails off again, gesturing to the road as they cross Westminster bridge. </p><p> </p><p><em>Oh, Pretty Women</em> blares from the car speakers, entirely ill-fitting for the current mood as Yaz looks around at her friends. Their mouths gape at the current predicament, the car silent apart from Roy Orbison’s cheerful singing. Before she can stop it a burst of laughter erupts from her chest.<em> What. The actual. Fuck.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Yaz…” Clara scolds her outburst, shoving her back against the seat as she creases over.</p><p> </p><p>Biting back the laugh, her heels straddle the middle compartment, her too-short dress showing off the hickey on her thigh from Thirteen’s wondering teeth. She looks at Bill’s sweaty top lip and Clara’s goggle lines and the absolute confusion plastered across both their faces and she collapses into another fit of laughter, abs aching with the strain.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god,” Bill groans, burying her face in her hands.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>The Professor, who apparently worked at St. Luke’s University for decades before Bill and Yaz attended, very kindly drops them off at the end of Bill’s road. They walk to rest of the way, stumbling in their heels under the 9 am morning sun in quiet reflection. Yaz needs a fucking shower. A shower and a cup of tea and probably a nap. Her sleep was deep but brief and it took Clara a good few tries to wake her, the jolt of the world coming back into focus bringing with it a smacking headache.</p><p> </p><p>She’d slipped out Jack’s suite without waking Thirteen, pulling on her dress and heels under the light seeping in through the half-cracked blinds. Thirteen had been so thoroughly bundled up in the sheets the only thing Yaz’d seen of her was a tuft of blonde hair and her baby blue trainer socks poking out the end of the bed. <em>Baby blue,</em> she’d thought. <em>That’s cute.</em></p><p> </p><p>After a shower and a change of clothes into something far more comfortable, Yaz wonders into the lounge to find her friends.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s gotta be the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.”</p><p> </p><p>“We? Bill, it was on your phone, I’m not having any part of this,” Clara chides, unpacking their food delivery and snapping open her chopsticks. They rarely all have a day off work like this and Yaz feels a glowing warm spot in her chest as she takes her spot on the sofa. “I did think he was quite fit though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ew, Clara he was literally like sixty,” Yaz laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, more your type then,” she smirks, a sure jab at Yaz and Thirteen’s hefty age gap.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’better watch yourself, you’re closer to her age than mine.”</p><p> </p><p>“God, you really do have a type, Yaz,” Bill snorts, shooting her an accusatory look.</p><p> </p><p>It’s old news, really, but Bill can never resist bringing up the past. It’s been almost two years since Yaz and Clara, strangers at the time, stumbled into Bill’s flat, both unaware their one-night-stand shared a mutual best friend. And here she thought London was a big place. Then again, Clara Oswald has a tendency to pop up places unexpectedly and Yaz quite likes the idea of the universe working in funny ways.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re both so annoying,” Yaz sighs, rubbing her tired eyes with her palms.</p><p> </p><p>Shoving noodles into her smug mouth, Bill’s smirk drops mid-chew, a confused frown taking its place. “…Was I in bed with you and Snaps?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you dick, she was proper embarrassed!”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz still can’t shake the image of Thirteen’s flushed cheeks tucked below her on the hotel sheets, tugging her impossibly closer. She can’t think of another instance in her life of wanting to kiss someone so badly. But maybe she’s just sleep deprived.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, if you leave the door unlocked,” Bill shrugs, not showing an ounce of regret for her actions.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm, I must take after Clara.” Yaz shoots her friend a merciless grin, laughing as Clara hides her face with a groan, surely hoping Yaz had forgotten the first interruption of the night.</p><p> </p><p>“What? Why? What happened?” Bill asks, posture straightening at the prospect of gossip.</p><p> </p><p>“I walked in on her and Vastra in the bathroom.”</p><p> </p><p>“Clara, you didn’t!!” Her jaw swings open, an elated grin capturing her features. “Her wife is gonna kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I got the vibe her wife was very much aware,” she grins, smugly popping a prawn into her mouth with her chopsticks. “God. The tongue on that woman. She’s like a… snake or, no, a lizard.”</p><p> </p><p>“I always thought there was something reptilian about her, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah but in a sexy way, not an illuminati way.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re both so weird,” Yaz cackles, shaking her head as she finally digs into her own food. The broth is hot in her throat and it washes away the dehydration and the hangover-tension in her bones. “What film we watching?”</p><p> </p><p>“Alien,” Bill says, turning up the volume on her massive TV.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this the gross one with the alien in his stomach?”</p><p> </p><p>“Spoilers!”</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t be worse than what’s already come out of Bill this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck off,” she retorts, flicking a loose scallion off the coffee table in Yaz’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>They settle into a comfortable silence, tucked under blankets as weariness envelopes them. The movie flickers across the screen but Yaz pays it no mind, dozing gently instead. She’s so content here, running on the high of last night’s events and the love she has for her friends. The lack of sleep she feels behind her eyes barely bothers her. It’s only when her phone flashes up with a message Yaz remembers she’s meant to be going on her date with Thirteen tonight.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:42 pm]: Hey yaz! :) x</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The dots indicating she’s typing pop up and disappear a few times and Yaz imagines her staring at her phone, biting her lip, probably figuring out how to reschedule without sounding like a flake.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yaz [1:44 pm]: How’s the head?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:44 pm]: Sore :( Yours?</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Yaz [1:45 pm]: Sore. Bill threw up on Trap street out the back of a stranger’s car </em>😂</p><p> </p><p><em>13 [1:46 pm]: Poor bill. Although I don't have much sympathy for her after last night </em>😡</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yaz [1:46 pm]: Don't worry. Don't think she remembers much</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:47 pm]: Good</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:47 pm]: I hope you haven’t forgotten x</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yaz bites her lip and stares at the text. She looks up from her spot on the sofa, checking to make sure both her friends are enthralled in the film, pixels glittering in corneas.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yaz [1:50 pm]: Might need a bit of a reminder x</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:52 pm]: 1 Attachment: Video</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her breath catches in her throat, not fully expecting her to actually send it. The thumbnail is a blurred image of white sheets and the side of Thirteen’s pale calf. Her heart thuds heavily in her ribs at the thought of rewatching what they did last night. Of reliving it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:52 pm]: Tell me if it’s any good x</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yaz frowns. If it was on her phone she’s positive she would’ve watched it ten times by now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yaz [1:53 pm]: You’ve not watched it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:53 pm]: Nope. Don’t think i need that mental image of myself x</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yaz hesitates for a second, contemplating how to convince this woman she barely knows she has nothing to be insecure about. Wondering if that’s even the reason she can’t see herself in that light. It’s second nature to Yaz to see her body the way the world does, if only there was a way to impart that skill onto someone who needs it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yaz [1:54 pm]: I’ll just have to describe it then</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:55 pm]: Are you alone?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yaz [1:56 pm]: No. With Bill and Clara</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:56 pm]: Get headphones x</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The thought makes her head spin. The idea of watching herself fuck Thirteen while her friends sit mere inches away, none the wiser. She pulls her headphones out of her pocket, putting the left (the only one that works) in her ear, hidden under her hair. Her hands shake a little but she puts it down to the caffeine in her tea.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a lot of rustling at first, the mic scraping against the hotel sheets and then there’s the milky expanse of her bare thigh, her blue sock, her arched back—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [1:59 pm]: Are you watching?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yaz [1:59 pm]: Yes x</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She flicks back to the video. The silence between the three of them is deafening. It weighs heavily in the room like if it were quiet enough her friends might be able to read her thoughts, see what she’s seeing and she feebly wishes Bill would turn the TV up a little more.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Y’gonna smile for me, babe?’</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her own voice leaks through her earphone, a weird feeling to say the least but she pays it no mind over the image of Thirteen’s wet centre, glistening under Yaz’s fingers and then her little smile when she sees the camera. It makes Yaz lightheaded, an unmissable thrumming starting to run through her limbs, thudding between her thighs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Don’t hide y’face, puppy. I like it almost as much as this.’</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yaz sighs. The camera work is pretty shoddy but hearing the words invokes a vivid memory of kissing her, the pink flesh under her lips hot and wet. Her body feels like it’s on fire, burning up with electricity, desperate for an extinguishing touch. It magnifies the stillness in the room, the mumbling TV, the warmth of Clara’s bare thigh underneath her foot as they squish together on the sofa. There’re wet sounds in her ear and a gentle gasp and—</p><p> </p><p>“This is shit,” Bill groans and Yaz jumps, yanking the headphone out her ear and suddenly sitting up a little straighter.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s gotten into you?” Clara looks are her suspiciously from the other end of the sofa, clearly having felt Yaz start. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” she blurts.</p><p> </p><p>Clara’s eyes narrow slightly. “Are you sexting?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How does she always know?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes take in Yaz’s posture, the death grip she has on her phone and the flush across her cheeks. “Such a shit liar.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not. I’m rescheduling the date, I’m not dressing up for a fancy restaurant feeling like this,” she lies cooly and she’s almost impressed with herself until she sees Clara’s knowing smirk. </p><p> </p><p>“Invite her here!” Bill pipes up from the chair, legs swung over the arm.</p><p> </p><p>“What? No, that’s really weird.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>The thought of her sitting here with them sends a wave of anxiety through Yaz. It’s not that her friends aren’t great, they’re just… nosey. And weird and kind of loud and for some reason Yaz loathes the idea of Thirteen being scared off before she’s even had a chance to get to know her. Before she’s had the chance to prove she’s not just any old dumb model at the start of her career. “I literally don’t know her, Bill.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is how you <em>get</em> to know her.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, y’gonna interrogate her and scare her off,” she mumbles, snapping the case on her phone. It feels odd to hold it in her hands so innocently, knowing what depraved content it holds. It looks like it should start smoking or melting at any second.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, you actually fancy her, don’t you?” Bill asks, grinning from ear to ear at the blush dusting Yaz’s cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, I dunno,” she grumbles, wanting nothing more than to be left to her phone in peace. Another text message sends a burst of vibrations through her palm and she jumps again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>13 [2:06 pm]: Got to the good bit yet?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yaz licks her lips. She knows she’s already wet. Knows she can’t get away with even smiling at her phone now Clara’s called her bluff and it’d be too obvious to get up and leave now. She locks her phone. Places it above the blankets and tries not to let Clara’s shit-eating grin get to her.</p><p> </p><p>It’s approximately three minutes before the sticky patch in her underwear, her phone burning a hole in her lap and Clara’s warm hand resting innocuously on her bare calf become too much to bear. She leaps up all at once, shedding her blanket and muttering a quick, “I’m going to the loo.” Which is fine since Bill mostly ignores her but then Clara looks at her with a knowing gleam in her eyes and Yaz feels her cheeks flush.</p><p> </p><p>“Enjoy,” she says and it's so weighted with the knowledge of what Yaz is about to go and do she almost trips over the blanket in a fluster. Yaz, as a general rule, doesn’t fluster easily but the memories of last night and the promise of reliving it, on top of her mild sleep deprivation, has her rather high-strung.</p><p> </p><p>Thirty seconds later she’s sprawled on her bed, phone in one hand and the other down the front of her pyjama shorts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Can you come like this?’</em>
</p><p> </p><p>On screen, Thirteen turns, her skin looking just at damageable as Yaz remembers, pale and flushed around her chest. She remembers the feel of it, the softness, the clamminess. The feel of her hard nipples under her tongue and between her teeth and the gasps each bite withdrew.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hi, Yaz…”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen’s eyes flutter as she smirks directly at Yaz through the lens. It feels like she’s there, present somehow even though Yaz watched her say these words live. She’s drunk and her lips are kiss-swollen and raw. Yaz gasps. Her fingers collect the wetness from her cunt and smear it over her aching clit. Each circle winding the thread tighter and tighter in her core.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I miss you… wherever you are.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The words, dark and wanting, make her clench around nothing. She picks up her pace, breathing in time with Thirteen’s strangled gasps on the video. God, she feels empty, empty and alone and desperate and she needs…</p><p> </p><p>She flicks from the video to her call log, tapping Thirteen’s name and not at all slowing her pace as the line rings. On the third one, she answers.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Yaz?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Yaz gasps, the knowledge Thirteen can finally hear her back sending a dizzying amount of want to her core. “Missed you too,” she says, panting a little laugh. She’s already so close, the tension pulling impossibly tight.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Are you…?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Yep,” Yaz sighs as her hips start to buck up into her own hand.<em> I wonder what she’s doing? Where is she?</em></p><p> </p><p><em>“Fuck. …Fuck,”</em> she croaks and there’s a clattering in the background. Yaz tries not to feel too smug, the image of her blushing face on the other end of the line vivid in her mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Talk to me,” she whispers, knowing full well just the sound of her breathing could push her over the edge right now.<em> </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I wish I could see you. I wish I could feel you. You feel so good, Yaz. You feel amazin’…”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yaz comes in record time, a pathetic little moan stifled on the pillow lest she alert her friends to her actions. It’s not an earth-shattering thing, just a warm release sending a gentle shudder down her legs and a shiver down her spine. “Come here,” she says suddenly, cutting off whatever praise Thirteen was still waffling down the line. “Fuck the restaurant, just come over.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“W-Are you sure?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be fine,” she says, convincing herself more than anything. “I just really, <em>really</em> wanna fuck you again,” she murmurs, lowering her voice and regaining her usual confidence.</p><p> </p><p>There’s another little clatter on the other end of the line before Thirteen clears her throat. <em>“Um, I can be there at seven?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“I’ll text you the address,” Yaz replies. There’s a sound like Thirteen is about to say something else but Yaz hangs up before she gets the chance. Then she’s alone again, only one set of lungs sending heavy breaths out into the air and she thinks maybe that didn’t help at all. In fact, she thinks that might’ve just made her current predicament, the taut desire seizing her mind and body, much much worse.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>Yaz spends the next few hours drifting in and out of almost-sleep as movies play, slipping out of the real world but never really resting. Her mind fills with ideas, some of them complex and infuriating, most of them wicked and lewd. She dreams, or maybe just fantasises about Thirteen but the images blur with other people she’s fucked and places she’s been.</p><p> </p><p>Seven rolls around a little quicker than she had anticipated. She makes the mistake of assuming Thirteen will text her when she’s outside instead of just… knocking on the door like a complete madwoman. The four knocks make her jump and she checks her phone, looking for the staple ‘almost there’ text she’s been waiting for but there’s nothing and then Bill is heading to the door and—</p><p> </p><p>“Aye, Snaps!” <em>Shit</em>. “You here for movie night? We’re watching shitty sci-fi.” Bill’s voice leaks down the hallway. <em>How did she even get in the building without using the intercom?</em></p><p> </p><p>“I <em>love</em> sci-fi. Hands down the best genre.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz hears her familiar accent as she scrambles off the sofa to greet her.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you seen Alien? I thought the name was offensive but the special effects are totally unmatched.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I said!”</p><p> </p><p>She’s stood in the hallway, kicking off her trainers and she’s wearing a soft linen shirt with a rainbow on one side and hair looks freshly washed, curly from being left to air-dry.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Yaz greets her. She looks tired, eyes a little puffy from disturbed sleep but it only serves to make her look cosy and sweet.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz, hiya. You look nice,” she says, taking in Yaz’s grey sleep shorts and the oversized t-shirt that says <em>Made in Yorkshire. </em>“Like the top, I should get one of those.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like yours. Very… gay,” she says and then kind of regrets it but Thirteen beams anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, movie then,” Bill suddenly claps and it makes them both jump, clearly tired of the small talk as she guides them through into the lounge. <em>This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the plan at all. </em>“How do you feel about 80s sci-fi?”</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely the best era. 90s were just too tame. Have you watched <em>Love &amp; Monsters</em> yet?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s on the list! Can you believe Yaz’s never seen it?”</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen’s jaw almost hits the floor, giving her an offended look as they wander through the lounge. “Yaz… how?! It’s a classic. No one beats 80s Jackie Tyler… I mean, what an icon. I still remember seeing it for the first time on my mate’s VHS. He’s a dick now but we had a right laugh watching it then,” she rambles and Yaz smiles at the thought of young Thirteen watching movies with her mates. She wonders briefly what her name was back then but then decides she doesn’t care. She knows her now, that’s all that matters. </p><p> </p><p>“Yaz wasn’t even born when this came out,” Clara grins from her spot on the sofa. “Nice to see you again, I’m Clara,” she adds, holding out her hand to be shaken.</p><p> </p><p>“Clara, I remember,” Thirteen winces a little, a flush on her cheeks as she takes Clara’s hand, clearly remembering the circumstances of their first meeting. Thankfully the rings from her goggles have faded by now.</p><p> </p><p>“Oi, neither was Bill, this is just old,” Yaz frowns, flopping down in the middle of the sofa and making room for Thirteen. “‘'Ent this the really weird one where he fucks a pavement or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t fuck a pavement, he fucks his girlfriend who’s stuck inside a paving stone,” Thirteen explains, all very rationally. She wastes no time snaking an arm around Yaz’s shoulder, letting her fingers gently tickle the baby hairs on Yaz’s neck. <em>This is gonna be a really long movie</em>, some voice in the back of her head says, the gentle strokes already sending a shiver down her back. </p><p> </p><p>By the time Jackie Tyler is flirting with a man in a laundromat, Thirteen has her hand dangerously high on Yaz’s thigh, hidden beneath the blanket. She’s rubbing little figure eights there, occasionally dipping under the leg hole of her shorts, her eyes set firmly on the screen. <em>Is she gonna try and fuck me right here? </em>Yaz ponders<em>. Do I want her to?</em></p><p> </p><p>Her head lolls gently on Yaz’s shoulder, blonde hair tickling her ear and she seems utterly content just to feel her thigh, like the skin-on-skin contact is feeding something deep within her, pacifying her. Yaz, however, is having a rather different response. She wants to squirm into the touch, jut her hips forward until they press against her or maybe pull away completely and allow her mind to clear — this state of suspension is driving her mad.</p><p> </p><p>“That is the ugliest alien I have ever seen,” Clara murmurs, drawing Yaz’s attention back to the room. The breathiness in her whisper and their legs pressed together on the small sofa seem to increase the intolerableness of Yaz’s current predicament. “Why’s it got faces in its body?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because the Abzorbaloff consumes humans whenever he touches them,” Thirteen explains, deadly serious, her eyes never straying from the film.</p><p> </p><p>Her sober tone causes them both the look round at her, baffled by how enthralled she appears to be. “How many times have you watched this film?” Yaz chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Only a few times,” she whispers her dismissal with a tiny shake of her head. She squeezes Yaz’s inner thigh fondly before continuing with her ministrations and Yaz can’t help but find her love for such an odd creation endearing.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz, to her own foundering, makes the mistake of turning to look at Clara just in time to catch her eyes flicking up from Yaz’s lap. <em>Oh, shit. </em>The blanket, unfortunately, does very little to obscure the movement of Thirteen’s hand and it shifts in little repetitive motions, right above her crotch. <em>She thinks I’m getting fingered.</em></p><p> </p><p>She’s just about to tell her to shut up and not rib her when her eyes drift back to the screen as if nothing happened. Not even a knowing smirk or a little shake of her head to break the tension. A part of Yaz wonders if maybe she’s angry or disgusted and the slight panic is enough for her to grab Thirteen’s fingers and hold them still.</p><p> </p><p>But then Clara’s hand moves, resting innocently by her side, the outside of her knuckles pressing into Yaz’s thigh.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What the fuck?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It burns a hole there like a brand and by the time they’re all groaning at the heavily implied paving stone blowjob, Yaz is just about ready to snap. As soon as the credits are rolling, she hops up and makes to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>“Oi, get popcorn!” Bill requests, giving Thirteen a high-five when she compliments the idea. Watching them joke around with her is starting to make Yaz feel something warm inside her chest. Or maybe the warmth between her legs is just running out of room. Either way, she shoves a bag of popcorn into the microwave and hops up onto the counter while it twirls and pops.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa, look at this,” Thirteen beams, inspecting the little kitchen Bill’s kitted out with seamless slate cabinets. “It’s like a spaceship. All metal—”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re watching <em>The Adipose</em> next!!” Bill’s call from the lounge filters through.</p><p> </p><p>“Now that is one I remember,” Clara says, immediately going to the sink to start loading Bill’s dirty utensils into the dishwasher, despite this not even being her house. “I always thought those little fat blobs were so cute,” she says and in the light of the kitchen, Yaz thinks she looks slightly flushed. </p><p> </p><p>“They still sell ‘em in the comic book shop near me,” Thirteen says, leaning her back against the work surface opposite Yaz. “Little plushies, I’ll get you one if you want,” she smiles warmly.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is she flirting?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s alright,” Clara says, shooting Yaz a look before turning to place the dirty forks into the dishwasher. “I’ve got so much junk already, not sure there’s room in my little flat.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Nah, she’s just being nice</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Then she bends over, reaching into the dishwasher to place the tablet in the compartment, borrowed sleep-shorts showing off a decent amount of leg. Now, Yaz isn’t a particularly jealous person but the way Thirteen’s eyes roam unabashed over her arse, her eyes taking in the soft skin and the perfect curves, sends her eyebrows up to her hairline.</p><p> </p><p>…<em>Okay, not just being nice, then.</em></p><p> </p><p>It’s only the briefest of ogles but Thirteen, not quite having mastered the skill of subtlety, gets caught on both fronts. Clara gives an awkward laugh when she spots her, shutting the machine door with her hip and sending Yaz another indecipherable look.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen’s eyes dart to the floor and then to the microwave and around the room until finally coming to settle on Yaz’s face, her perfectly arched eyebrow immediately letting her know she’s done for.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” She asks, quiet and petulant, but her denial is fruitless when she’s already blushing. A tension seems to swallow the little kitchen whole, enveloping them all in a cloying silence and when the microwave dings, they all jump.</p><p> </p><p>“Um, I’ll just…” Clara moves between them to pull the popcorn out, the smell of salt and butter filling the room as she spills the contents into a bowl. If Yaz isn’t mistaken she seems to be holding back a smirk as she does so, biting her lip as she turns to exit.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you serious?” Yaz starts, cutting Thirteen off when her jaw starts to flap in self-defence. “Checking her out right in front of me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t!” She claims boldly, sliding in to stand between Yaz’s knees, knowing exactly what she’s doing by running her palms up Yaz’s bare thighs.</p><p> </p><p>“She literally saw you!” Yaz gawps at Thirteen’s staggering lack of self-awareness, eyebrows shooting up in humorous disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz, I promise I wasn’t,” she pleads, leaning in to kiss the front of Yaz’s throat, a ploy to hide her face.</p><p> </p><p>“God, you’re such a shit liar,” Yaz shakes her head, melting into the kiss. She’s shorter with Yaz up on the counter and it makes her look slightly pathetic. “I wouldn’t blame you, y’know,” she says, dipping down to whisper in her ear. Her crush on Clara had never been intense but the chemistry between them always seems to bubble to surface when under the influence of alcohol or weed or, one time, sleep deprivation after a redeye flight. “Been there myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen pulls back a little, curiosity sparkling in her big eyes. “You and Clara?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bill thinks it’s only happened once but it’s more like three or four,” she says, wrapping her arms around Thirteen’s neck. She’s enamoured with the way her face opens up with intrigue like a child being told a scary story around a campfire she just can’t wait to hear the end of. </p><p> </p><p>“Um… what’s she like?” Thirteen asks, her tongue popping out to lick nervously at her lip. It’s the same thing she did the first time they met and Yaz likes that she’s started to learn her tells.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew you liked her,” Yaz grins, grabbing her chin as she watches a little bit of heat touch Thirteen’s cheeks. She tuts and frowns and struggles away but Yaz holds her jaw firm, thumb pressing against her lips until she grants access to her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“W-I didn’t mean to,” she garbles around the thumb hooked over her bottom teeth, fiddling with the drawstring on Yaz’s shorts. Yaz can’t help but take pity on her, all shame-faced and squirming.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm, she’s quite bossy. Knows exactly what she wants. Kind of a pillow princess, to be honest,” Yaz starts, murmuring quietly and trying not to think too hard about the fact she’s discussing her friend. Her friend in the other room, who’s waiting to watch a movie with her. “But she’s talented, headlong, loud… and she’s really <em>really</em> pretty when she comes.”</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen all but whimpers at the words, biting on the thumb and sending vibrations down the bone. “D’y’wanna go to bed?” She asks, releasing the thumb with a pop.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s 8:30,” Yaz smiles. “C’mon, Bill wants to watch that weird film with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>The Adipose</em> isn’t weird, it’s genius,” she insists with a grumble, taking Yaz’s hand as she hops down off the counter.</p><p> </p><p>What Yaz hasn’t quite calculated is having to sit back down on the sofa, Thirteen on one side and Clara on the other.</p><p> </p><p>“Finally. Didn’t think we’d see you again,” Bill chides as they take their seats, starting the film with a click.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz thinks she should probably say something witty or rude to deflect but her words seem to catch in her throat when she spots Clara looking right at her. It could be the dim light in the lounge but Yaz is convinced her eyes are a little darker than usual. With arms and thighs flushed together and Thirteen draped across her other side, Yaz is utterly stifled, her heart hammering in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>“What is this one again?” She clears her throat in an attempt to clear the tension but her voice still sounds unfamiliar in her ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Anti-fat pills that make little alien fat blobs,” Thirteen explains, arm slinking around Yaz’s neck like she can’t spend two minutes without touching her. Her fingers dangle dangerously close to Yaz’s breast, nails grazing just above her nipple.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like something <em>VORTEX</em> would try and sell.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oo, Clara you did not just go there. Not in front of Snaps,” Bill gasps, feigning outrage.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine. Least <em>VORTEX</em> is honest about being shallow,” Thirteen shrugs. Her fingers stretch out and curl, purposeful and searching like she’s trying to locate a spot that makes Yaz gasp. She doesn’t even register she’s just made a dig at <em>WHO Magazine’s </em>current branding, her eyes firmly trained on the TV. </p><p> </p><p>“You know I’m director of social media there, right?” Bill shoots back, eyebrows raised and waiting for her rebuttal.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t come. Thirteen’s hand pauses, her face scrunching apologetically and she lets out a little groan. “Sorta put my foot in it there, didn’t I? Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, you’re not wrong, half my job is rephrasing tweets to sound like someone under 23 wrote it.”</p><p> </p><p>Yaz slips her fingers around the back of her knee as the movie plays. “That’s what y’get for not paying attention,” she murmurs into the dark and it sets her tongue off again, dipping out to wet her top lip.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand doesn’t stray further down again but the fingers that hang across her chest press, circle and scrape against her nipple at random intervals. At one point she leans in to whisper some useless fact about the film, punctuating it with an absentminded pinch. It’s infuriating and sporadic and every time it makes her cunt pulse with want.</p><p> </p><p>She catches glimpses of Clara, cataloguing each of her movements to see if she’s moving closer or further away, where she’s putting her hands and if she’s watching Thirteen’s. Halfway through she folds her feet under herself, her bare knee high on Yaz’s thigh and it’s such a stupid thing to get worked up over but Yaz stares at it like it’s an alien in her lap.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen seems to be doing it too, glancing over at her and then at Yaz with a question in her eyes. Only when the credits roll does Yaz realise she’s given herself a sore neck from being so tense.</p><p> </p><p>“That was the weirdest film I’ve ever seen,” Clara yawns.</p><p> </p><p>“How are you gonna say that when your favourite film is about the moon being an egg,” Bill sighs, turning the TV back to channel one and cracking her back as she stretches.</p><p> </p><p>“I love <em>Kill The Moon</em>!” Thirteen grins to exactly nobody’s surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you guys watch that. Think I’m going bed,” she says, stealing Clara’s yawn and collecting up the takeaway pots and the empty popcorn bowl.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen leaps to attention, unwinding herself from Yaz to help out. <em>Such a good puppy</em>, Yaz thinks with a smile, watching her pick up the popcorn she spilt on the floor. She’s tired and unbelievably horny, a whole days worth of pent up desire ready to burst and Clara’s hand on the cushion behind her head <em>really</em> isn’t helping.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks maybe she should shuffle up the sofa now Thirteen is in the kitchen helping Bill but when she looks around Clara is staring right at her, eyes wide and slightly suspicious.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on?” She asks, not giving Yaz a single clue as to what she’s thinking.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” Yaz says and <em>god</em>, she wishes her voice didn’t sound so strained.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaz…” she prompts and there’s a hint of a smile or something electric fluttering in her eyes. Yaz feels like it might burn her, that she might burn up anyway just from the need that’s coursing through her. Some little part of her resolve melts under the heat of it and she allows her eyes to dip to Clara’s mouth, a silent question. “Oh my god,” she gasps, face suddenly breaking into a smile and the tension snapping like a cut thread.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shut up,” Yaz cringes, curling over in embarrassment and hiding her face in her hands. <em>Fuck sake. </em>“Please forget I said anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you serious?” She asks, grabbing Yaz’s wrist and pulling it away from her face.</p><p> </p><p>“I dunno!” She starts, adopting a casual air in an attempt to save face but when she looks into Clara’s eyes they’re black as coal. It takes Yaz’s breath away as they dip to her mouth. Her tongue juts out to touch her top lip just like Thirteen and Yaz starts to think maybe she does have a type. <em>Am I gonna kiss her? Is she gonna kiss me?</em> She wonders and then she’s inching forward, her lips centimetres away from colliding with her best friend’s—</p><p> </p><p>They both jump as Bill’s laughter fills the room, light flooding in from the hallway as the door swings open.</p><p> </p><p>“Make sure you turn the TV off, yeah?” She reminds Yaz, picking up her phone and blanket to take to bed. She sticks her hand out with a smug smile, waving it in Yaz’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“What is that?” Yaz asks, slapping it away.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m waving at fat,” she grins, quoting the bizarre movie they’ve just watched back to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck off,” Yaz laughs, rolling her eyes at the shit joke and sticking her middle finger up at her friend as she leaves.</p><p> </p><p>“Night, lads,” she calls over her shoulder, disappearing down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>“Night, Bill!” Thirteen chirps, ever the enthusiast.</p><p> </p><p>The lounge door clicks shut and it feels like all the oxygen left with her. Thirteen has resumed her spot and Yaz is suddenly wondering how on earth she got into this situation. Encircled by two beautiful women, both of them waiting on her cue.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen’s blunt teeth bite into her shoulder, her big eyes peering up. Yaz can only interpret it as her saying<em> ‘please ask her?’</em></p><p> </p><p>She lets out a steady sigh, finally giving in to the desire that’s been cursing her mind all day. Clara’s already looking at her when she turns her head.</p><p> </p><p>Like two planets set on a collision course to spite immortals, they fall into one another. Her lips are bolder than Thirteen’s, they press against Yaz’s forcefully and part for her warm tongue. <em>Fuck</em>. Yaz doesn’t even think before grabbing her thigh and hauling the shorter woman on top of her until she’s straddling her lap.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a strangled gasp from beside them as Thirteen watches, Yaz can only imagine how wide her eyes have gone.</p><p> </p><p>“Are we all serious about this?” Clara asks, pulling away briefly to look at them.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty serious,” Yaz nods.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never been more serious,” comes Thirteen’s sigh, the desperation leaking out in waves.</p><p> </p><p>“My room,” Yaz orders, helping Clara out of her lap.</p><p> </p><p>The walk down the hall is awkward, the air permeated with a stifling sense of professionalism. It feels more like any old work day, walking up to the Tardis Building foyer than it does the start of a threesome. <em>I’m about to have a threesome</em>. Only Thirteen linking her finger through Yaz’s tames the uncomfortable tension. When the bedroom door clicks shut, they both look to Yaz for further instruction. <em>What the fuck am I doing?</em></p><p> </p><p>She kisses Clara again. Partly because she doesn’t want her to feel like a third wheel, partly because she wants to show Thirteen all the things she couldn’t do. It’s a power trip, taking the girl she’s been ogling right in front of her. She’s kissed Clara hundreds of times before but this feels different. It feels wrong and rude and weird, to kiss a friend, someone usually off-limits and to kiss her in front of an audience, no less. Yaz can’t get enough of it.</p><p> </p><p>Her tongue is slippery and does everything Thirteen’s doesn’t, working in tandem with Yaz’s, not fighting back but not giving in either. It curls something deep inside her and when she pulls back Clara looks slightly dazed by the intensity, her lips swollen and her eyes dark.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’wanna touch her, don’t you?” Yaz turns to Thirteen. She’s waiting rather patiently, her breathing already shallow and she nods slowly, eyes gooey. Yaz circles her like a hawk. “Y’think she’ll let you after you were so rude?”</p><p> </p><p>Her head lolls back on Yaz’s shoulder, blonde hair tickling Yaz’s cheek as she starts to unbutton her shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Yaz,” she hisses as Yaz nips the skin at her neck between her teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“Not me you need to beg this time, babe,” she murmurs into her ear, biting the lobe.</p><p> </p><p>Clara seems to find the whole thing rather entertaining, pulling off the St. Luke’s University top she’d borrowed from Bill. Her body is just as Yaz remembers: all soft curves and olive skin. A part of Yaz is nervous to show her just how in control she can be like she might just roll her eyes and laugh. But then she’s kicking off her shorts and sliding back onto the bed. Her eyes rake over Thirteen’s exposed chest, darkening as the shirt slips from her arms and Yaz feels a little skip of pride on her behalf.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz pushes her culottes down long legs, holding her hand as she steps out of them. Like undoing the leash and letting her pet free in an endless field, she pushes a kiss into Thirteen’s spine, encouraging her forward. It’s an odd sight to see the girl you like, almost naked and straddling your best friend but Yaz doesn’t analyse. She watches instead. Watches the way they kiss like strangers, awkward at first and then finding a rhythm. Watches the way her hands skim over Clara’s stomach, nervous and guilty until they reach her bra.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I?” She asks and Clara looks to Yaz for a moment and Yaz smirks. It’s exactly like their first time, Thirteen straddling her hips, nervously asking to remove her bra and Yaz quite likes being able to relive it from the outside.</p><p> </p><p>“Please do,” Clara smiles, watching intensely as Thirteen pulls the straps down, a slight tremor in her fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen lets out a sigh when she sees her, soft nipples growing harder in the open air. She’s lost in her own thoughts, staring at Clara’s chest like its a work of art she’s not sure bears a <em>do not touch</em> sign. Yaz is positive she’s imaging what they’d look like on film, categorised within her mind forever, right next to Yaz’s.</p><p> </p><p>Joining them on the bed, Yaz slides her hand into blonde hair, gently scratching her scalp. “Y’think she’s pretty?” She asks, pulling Thirteen from her reverie.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yeah,” she splutters a little, clearing her throat while Yaz licks along the shell of her ear.</p><p> </p><p>“You gonna do a good job?” Yaz asks and Clara is outright smirking now, a grin plastered across her face at just how red Thirteen blushes. “Think you need to make it up to her, for being so rude. What do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think she definitely has a lot of making up to do,” Clara agrees. She runs her fingers over the soft skin at Thirteen’s thighs and over her belly and watches her abs tense.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz gives her hair a tug, drawing her attention away to look at her. Her jaw hangs open, head tilted back from her grip and Yaz licks into her mouth, making her squirm and her thighs tighten around Clara’s hips. “Eat her out for me,” she says and it echos around her open mouth. “Don’t go inside until she tells you to.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, she’s set to work, nodding frantically and scrambling down the bed to find a home between her thighs. Clara seems enthralled, watching her plant kisses across her hips as she fumbles with the elastic on her underwear.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s… well behaved,” she observes, unhooking her bra and handing it to Yaz to get rid of. It’s odd, in a way, how efficient they are. Like a well-oiled machine, too friendly to be caught up in role-play, they feel like equals.</p><p> </p><p>“She likes to do well,” Yaz shrugs, shucking off her own clothes.</p><p> </p><p>“I see. Well… feel,” she gasps as Thirteen discards of her underwear, settling between her legs. “Kiss me?”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a little awkward at first, making out with someone who’s being eaten out by someone else, but the little gasps that start to spill into Yaz’s mouth drive her wild. Clara’s mouth becomes hungrier the harder Thirteen works and even though Yaz can’t see her, she knows exactly when she sucks on her clit by the noise Clara makes. A guttural groan that vibrates through Yaz’s lips. It’s all whines and wet sounds and Clara’s hardened nippled pressed into Yaz’s palm.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, she’s good,” she pants, eyebrows pinching in that way Yaz remembers. “She’s really, <em>really</em> good. She’s—“</p><p> </p><p>“You better not say she’s better than me,” Yaz chides and Clara’s moan turns into a laugh, into a whine.</p><p> </p><p>An idea strikes her then, her competitive nature coming to surface when she sees how emphatically Thirteen is eating her. Her fingers are tight, presses into the soft flesh of Clara’s thighs and her nose is pushed up against her clit, jaw strained uncomfortably. <em>Such a good puppy.</em></p><p> </p><p>Yaz rolls off the mattress, crouching down to dig into the draws under the bed.</p><p> </p><p>Clara’s moans are getting louder and louder, a crescendo of melodic cries, Yaz briefly wonders if Bill will be able to recognise her voice. “F-Fingers,” she blurts, head rolling back on the sheets. “Ohh, fingers, please…”</p><p> </p><p>Only she doesn’t get what she wants, not this time at least, as Yaz gives Thirteen’s hair another sharp tug and pulls her face away.</p><p> </p><p>“Move,” she commands. Mutual groans of disappointment fill the room and the looks of exasperation and slight devastation on both their faces almost makes Yaz laugh. Both of them look up at her for an explanation but it doesn’t take long when Yaz kneels on the foot of the bed, the six-inch cock standing between her legs.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen looks to be a mix of unbelievably aroused and disappointed, knowing she’s not making anyone come anytime soon. “Yaz, that’s… That’s not fair,” she grumbles, wiping the come off her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think it’s unfair at all, since you like watching so much,” she says, shuffling her out the way and spreading Clara’s knees. “You okay with this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m very much okay,” Clara smiles, licking her lips at the sight. Her cunt is glistening from Thirteen’s mouth and her own wetness, shiny and inviting. She gasps when Yaz rubs her thumb over her.</p><p> </p><p>She wipes the excess lube on Thirteen’s thigh like she’s just there to be used as a rag and then lines the toy up with Clara’s entrance. She parts for her like butter, the cock sinking in around her fluttering entrance until she’s fully seated. “Fuck,” Yaz mutters, the sight never losing its impact. “Okay?” She asks, leaning forwards until she can plant a kiss by the side of her neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Very okay, you can move,” she sighs and her arms come around to embrace Yaz, scratching lazily across her spine. It’s close, intimate almost, as Yaz starts to thrust her hips, Clara’s breath ghosting over her lips with each one.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen looks like a puppy lockout out in the rain. Lip pouting and brows furrowed slightly as she watches with longing eyes. She squirms against herself, pressing her thighs together like she’s trying to stop herself doing something silly. Then she’s inching closer, face coming to press against Clara’s shoulder as she tentatively reaches out to touch her breast.</p><p> </p><p>Yaz slaps the hand away, picking up her pace as she fucks Clara with all she has, an elaborate display of dominance. But Thirteen is in a disobeying mood. There’s a mischievous smile on her face, hand going right back between their bodies to grab and grope and pinch.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t,” Yaz gruffs, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to the bed by Clara’s head. It makes Thirteen’s eyes go wide with anticipation, rolling over slightly like a docile animal. She knows exactly what she’s doing, making herself look open and vulnerable, lip twitching when she sees Yaz’s eyes rake over her naked body. <em>When did she get naked?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Touch yourself,” Yaz commands, breath ragged at the exertion.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, she doesn’t. Just spread her knees and looks at Yaz with wide eyes, taunting her. She hisses when Yaz slaps her inner thigh, spreading her legs even wider and then slapping her again, right on the sensitive bit next to her cunt.</p><p> </p><p>“I said touch yourself,” she snarls again and something in her tone must resonate with Clara because she shudders at the sound, or maybe it’s the sight of Thirteen with her legs spread next to them, her fingers finally dipping down to rub her clit.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck, Yaz,” she groans, her nails digging into her back.</p><p> </p><p>“Watch her, babe,” Yaz pants, going a little crosseyed herself to watch the expression claim Clara’s face as she comes undone. “Watch her come for me.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s nothing Yaz wishes more for than to be able to feel the way Clara clenches around the cock buried deep inside her. She makes do with the feeling of her hands grabbing at her back muscles and her thighs tightening and trembling about her hips.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” someone groans and it could’ve been Yaz or it could’ve been anyone, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the way she flushes and tenses and eventually goes floppy beneath her. She flutters as Yaz pulls out and it’s all she can see as she flops down, the mattress finally supporting her tired body.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t remember you being that good,” Clara laughs as her breathing settles but Yaz is too caught up in herself to reply. She kisses her instead, longing and slow and she likes the way it makes Thirteen wriggle at her side like she’s sick of being ignored.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, god,” Clara mutters into Yaz’s mouth when she pulls away, eyes trained between Yaz’s legs. Thirteen has perched herself there, her hand wrapped around the sticky silicone cock still covered in Clara. <em>Fucking really wish I could feel that. </em>Bored and left to her own devices, she’s entertaining herself with the feeling of it under her palm. Then she dips down, bringing to tip to her lips and taking it in her mouth. <em>Fuck.</em></p><p> </p><p>She holds the base with her hand, her cheeks hollowing out as she bobs her head, cleaning it of Clara’s come. Yaz can’t help bucking her hips up a little, watching the way Thirteen splutters when it nudges against her throat.She almost thinks she can feel it if she focuses, the soft warmth of her tongue pressing against her length.</p><p> </p><p>She’s just about to buck up again, press her cock into the back of Thirteen’s throat when she pulls off. Her lips are red and wet and her face is lit up with smugness for having them both so enraptured. Without hesitation she holds Yaz’s cock and shuffles forward, bringing the tip to her entrance and sliding down onto it before Yaz can stop her.</p><p> </p><p>“Oi, what are you doing?” Yaz scolds although she can’t keep the strain from her tone at the sight, the black silicone disappearing inch by inch.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” Thirteen sighs as if she hasn’t just impaled herself, she bites her lip a little, wincing slightly at the stretch.</p><p> </p><p>“You did that too fast.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine,” she insists, sitting still for a moment to accommodate Yaz’s size.</p><p> </p><p>“So impatient, puppy,” she chides, rocking her hips and pinching her thigh, mostly to see if she’s ready, a little bit to prove a point.</p><p> </p><p>“Puppy?” Clara inquires and her voice is a little scratchy from moaning. She leans up on one elbow, letting her fingers graze over Yaz’s chest. “Isn’t that what Amelia Pond called her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmhm, she had a lot to say, actually.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Thirteen frowns at the mention of her friend but they both ignore her.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew you were a top but I kind of imagined she’d be the one wearing that,” Clara observes casually tracing the outline of Yaz’s erect nipple.</p><p> </p><p>“With her wandering hands? Please, she couldn’t be trusted with a dick. Dread to think where she’d stick it,” Yaz gives a merciless smirk, revelling in the way Thirteen’s cheeks darken as they talk about her like she’s not here.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm, I could think of a few places,” Clara hums, leaning in to kiss Yaz’s neck as her deft fingers pinch and twist, sending sparkles across her skin.</p><p> </p><p>Thirteen pouts furiously, looking down at the two of them like she can’t understand why they won’t just fuck her. Why she has to work so hard to get her way. Like it’s all just so <em>unfair</em>. She starts rocking her hips, grinding herself down on Yaz’s cock and moving her hand to rub her own clit. The epitome of ‘<em>I’ll do it myself, then’.</em></p><p> </p><p>Of course, Yaz doesn’t allow her, grabbing her wrists and holding them in front of her while her hips start to curl upwards. As if having the same thought, Clara shifts to kneel behind Thirteen, her breath ghosting over her ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Eyes front solider, she wants to watch you fall apart,” Clara murmurs in her ear.</p><p> </p><p>The words send eyes like eclipsed suns snapping back to Yaz, rocking hips pick up their pace. Clara’s hands are everywhere, reaching around to rub her clit and rolling a pink nipple between finger and thumb. All Yaz can do it watch, placing Thirteen’s hands on her thighs so her view isn’t obstructed. She looks beautiful, filled and groped and red, her face contorting with pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Even like this, she’s still focused on touch, on the prospect of feeling Yaz or maybe just on disobeying her. Her hand moves to Yaz’s pubic bone, her thumb trying to slip under the harness to press against her clit. Yaz swiftly grabs her wrist again, holding it tight enough for the skin to flush as she lands another slap on her thigh, a hairbreadth from her sticky vulva.</p><p> </p><p>“Behave or we’ll stop,” Yaz commands, punctuated by Clara pinching her nipple.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” she blurts, head falling back on Clara’s shoulder until her face is obscured by swathes of blonde hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at me, babe,” Yaz orders, guiding Thirteen’s hand to her chest so she can finally touch her. She groans at the contact, hips bucking furiously against the cock as she erratically palms her breast.</p><p> </p><p>With Clara’s tongue running up the side of her neck, she comes. Wet and messy and perfect. Her thighs shudder and her hips jolt in uneven spasms before she collapses, basically sitting in Clara’s lap. Yaz is glad Clara is there to hold her, her arms wrapped around her waist and her head supported on her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Your hearts going bloody fast,” Clara sighs a laugh as her hand feels her sternum. “Feels like you’ve got two.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come here,” Yaz says gently, holding out her arms and Thirteen pulls the cock out of herself, shuffling up a bit to kiss Yaz. “How was that?” She asks and she’s vaguely aware of Clara undoing the straps and tugging the harness off for her.</p><p> </p><p>“Brilliant,” she beams, kissing her as if she’s been waiting to all night. She touches her like that, too, hands busily groping her chest and pinching her nipples as she nuzzles her face into the skin she’s so dearly missed. It’s greedy and unfettered as her sensitive clit presses into Yaz’s knee and she grinds into it a little bit. It’s frankly dizzying and Clara returning from the ensuite is the only things that grounds her.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re being rude to our guest,” she says, watching Clara’s smirk as she hops back on the bed. Is Clara really the guest here? Yaz’s fucked her in this bed more than she has Thirteen but something about her has always been fleeting. As if Clara Oswald exists in a million places all at once. Maybe the fact she’s impossible to be pinned to one time or one place is why Yaz is so happy to let her come and go.</p><p> </p><p>“Your turn, I think,” she smiles devilishly and the words spur Thirteen to action, sitting up to straddle one thigh while Clara takes the other.</p><p> </p><p>It’s all suddenly intense, such a lascivious scenario, Yaz struggles to catch her breath. She feels herself outside her own body, viewing the scene from the ceiling as if it were a film. Thirteen’s teeth find the side of her breast, scraping a biting. She holds her breast in her hand circling her nipple with her tongue, it’s warm and wet and then Clara is following her lead and—</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck,” she whines, shaky and trembling as they work in sync, two mouths sucking and licking and biting. Yaz thinks she might be able to come just from the sheer eroticism, her back arching into their touch.</p><p> </p><p>“Giddy up, cowboy,” she hears Clara say and she’s not sure if it’s to her or Thirteen but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t even have the mental capacity to roll or eyes or call her out for using such an awful phrase. There’s a hand sliding between her legs and she’s not sure who it belongs to until it finds her clit and abruptly pinches. <em>Definitely Clara. </em>She rubs in slow circles, three fingers flat over her swollen flesh and then another set of fingers are pushing inside.</p><p> </p><p>It’s difficult to keep track of what’s what, everything merging and twisting as the pleasure spills through every nerve. The breath on her neck sends shivers down her spine and the mouth on her nipple makes her stomach flip. The fingers inside her bend and curl and it stretches her just right. She wants to struggle against it, buck her hips up to greet them but the weight of both women on her legs won’t allow it. She’s thoroughly pinned, thighs spread and locked apart.</p><p> </p><p>A finger, or maybe a thumb, she’s positive belongs to Thirteen from the timid audacity, presses against her ass and then she’s being touched everywhere. Impossibly touched. By so many hands and fingers and tongues she loses count. Thirteen looks up at her, testing the waters as if curious to see when Yaz will tell her off.</p><p> </p><p>She pushes against the sensitive skin, a slight taunt as if to slip inside and Yaz curls a fist into her hair and growls. “Don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>She seems to chuckle a little in Yaz’s ear, happy to have found a means to ruffle her feathers, but stops nonetheless, running the finger, or maybe the thumb, back and forth to tease as her other hand works inside her.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you clever girl,” Clara observes, looking down to see what they’re talking about. She watches their hands work together to play Yaz like an instrument, drawing out the most melodic of sounds. The feeling is almost odd, to be so entirely consumed, it feels vaguely like being eaten by wolves. As soon as Yaz relaxes into it she feels herself tipping towards a certain end. “You clever girl,” Clara mutters again and then she bites Yaz right on her neck, leaving her mark across the pulse point.</p><p> </p><p>Something about the spark of pain in amongst the swathes of pleasure sends her over the edge, her whole body abruptly trembling against the restraining weight of their bodies. Her hips roll like she’s never seen, head thrown back into the pillow and Thirteen slows just to feel the way she clenches around her, drawing her deeper inside. An awful groan is yanked from her lungs, out through her strained throat and she hears it as if it came from someone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” she groans again, the final sparks dissipating and then she laughs.</p><p> </p><p>The hands are gone, replaced by warm bodies on either side of her, resting lazily against the sheet. “…Didn’t see that coming.”</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely coming round more often,” Thirteen smiles, droopy and sedated and something in her eyes makes Yaz think she doesn’t even mean because of the threesome. She gets lost in her irises, picking out the flecks of gold against deep hazel as their bodies recover from the exertion. <em>Fuck, I’m tired.</em></p><p> </p><p>The squeak of the shower turning off is the only thing that disturbs them and then Clara is padding over and getting under the covers.</p><p> </p><p>After a quick wash and the brushing of teeth, Yaz snuggles in, Thirteen’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist and Clara’s hair tickling the end of her nose. It’s a bit of a squeeze but somehow Yaz doesn’t mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Budge up, you two,” Clara huffs, shuffling her hips back against Yaz’s front. <em>She is far too comfortable here</em>, Yaz thinks with a smirk. She’ll be gone before they even wake up but Yaz finds it comforting to be around someone so free. Fleeting and ephemeral - like an echo in the night. It makes her own life feel solid, makes Thirteen feel all the more real and present and tangible, her arms wrapped tightly about her like an anchor. It makes her feel like one day, far in the future, she could feel like home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(nice) comments/kudos appreciated !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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